He tested every boundary I had.
That's the part that gets me, even now. He had her eyes.
He came home on a Friday in October, dropped his bag by the door, and found me on the kitchen floor fixing the sink with a wrench in one hand and a flashlight in my teeth.
"Noah?" I pulled myself out from under the sink. One look at his face and I set the wrench down.
He looked like he hadn't slept.
"Dad, I think you deserve to know the truth about Mom."
I felt the floor shift beneath me.
That's the part that gets me, even now.
He'd been on a trip with friends. A beach town called Cresthollow, about four hours from where we lived, nowhere either of us had ever been. They were there for a long weekend. Nothing special, just a group of college kids walking the boardwalk and eating fried seafood.
