My daughter gave up her dream prom gown to a girl crying behind the school vending machines and put on her late father’s old suit instead. I thought the worst she’d face that night was a few cruel laughs. Then the principal saw the suit, dropped her drink, and called the cops.
The kitchen window framed the early evening light the way it always did, soft and gold across the linoleum, and I watched my daughter from behind the curtain like she was something I might lose if I blinked too long.
Norma sat at the table with a shoebox of crumpled bills, smoothing each one against the wood. Three years had passed since Joe’s heart gave out, and the chair across from her still felt like his.
Bob had been Joe’s friend from the night shift at the motel.
