My Son Told Me Not to Come on the Trip I Paid For

brother, seventy-three days younger than my oldest memory of him. Standing under his porch light with his hands in his pockets, breath visible.

“I don’t know yet,” I said.

He nodded. That was enough.

I drove back to Arlington Heights with the heat on high and the radio off. Pulled into the garage. Sat in the dark for a while. The house was quiet. The continue reading …