I Couldn’t Remember Hearing Anyone Come Back Upstairs

Howard Finch. Pinewood Terrace had come later, from a package she’d signed for.

Then she memorized my brother’s number.

That part still gets me.

Not Mom’s. Not Dad’s.

Dylan’s.

Because he’d once picked me up from school and sat with us in the parking lot while Melissa, Kayley, whatever name she had that week, bitched for ten solid minutes about a math teacher continue reading …