When the old keeper forgot one latch, the 400-pound silverback reached through the steel

not a meaningful moment, not one final piece of himself arranged for my comfort. He had given enough to that building, to Winston, to all of us who wanted love to leave clearer evidence than it usually does.

Then Tom leaned toward the screen.

His hand, thin now, moved across the table until his finger touched the image of the silverback’s shoulder.

“Winston,continue reading …