The Morning After My Son’s Funeral, an Airport Worker Called and Said, “Your Son Checked In”

to damage control.

I had listened to eleven thousand people talk on the record. I knew the difference.

I said, “All right.”

That was all. Just all right.

I put the recorder in my jacket pocket, closed the bag, and drove home with Tara following behind me the whole twenty-two miles.

I want to be honest about the next part, because pretending I was clever continue reading …