My Dad Told Me To Pack My Things And Beg On The Streets On Thanksgiving Night

it had been on Thanksgiving. The anger was gone, and what replaced it was something I had not often heard from him, which was uncertainty. Gerald Carter was not a man who tolerated uncertainty in himself, and the sound of it in his voice now was its own kind of information.

“I owe you an apology,” he said.

“Yes,” I said. “You do.”

He nodded once, slowly.continue reading …