My Housekeeper Heard Singing Behind My Guest Room Wall

The duct-taped bumper.

The little dent above the taillight from when Karen backed into my mailbox three years ago and cried harder than I did.

It had been there the whole time.

While I packed school lunches. While I folded Daniel’s shirts. While I stood two feet away looking for beach chairs.

The officer lifted the tarp. “Registration is expired. There’s continue reading …