My Father Froze in the Doorway, Still Wearing the Old Gray Sweatshirt That Made Him Look Practical and Hardworking

decide whether it was a confession or an excuse.

“I know,” I said. “You could just call sometimes. Not about anything.”

She said she would.

She did, twice, in the following year. Both times about something.

Here is where things ended up, as of the writing of this, which is two years and one month after a delivery truck ran a red light on Bellmore Avenue.continue reading …