But for the boy who once walked me home two miles in the rain and never once complained about his wet shoes.
Although his children never believed that.
When Thomas suddenly d:ied of a heart attack, his daughter looked me straight in the eyes and said,
“Get out. You’ve embarrassed our mother’s memory long enough.”
His son dropped my old suitcase at my feet.
“Please,” I whispered. “At least let me take his photograph.”
“No,” his daughter said coldly. “Nothing in this house belongs to you.”
So I left in the dress I had worn to bu:ry my husband.
I moved into my sister’s old trailer beside the county road.
I missed Thomas more than I had ever missed anything in my life.
For days, I barely slept.
Everywhere I looked, I remembered the boy he had once been — the boy who
Two weeks later, I was hanging laundry on the line when I heard tires crunching over the gravel road.
