“She wrote one for you,” he said. “Read it when you’re ready.”
I put it in the glove compartment of my truck.
For a long time, I couldn’t bring myself to open it.
That night, Mom asked me to drive her to Ray’s house.
He lived just beyond the county line in a small ranch house with a body shop out back. Six motorcycles stood in the gravel driveway.
The men hadn’t gone home.
They were sitting in lawn chairs, drinking coffee and watching the road as though they were guarding something more precious than gold.
June welcomed us inside.
Lily was asleep in a white bassinet in the living room.
“Kayla picked that out,” June told us.
Then I noticed the walls.
They were covered in photographs.
Dozens of them.
Kayla laughing across a red vinyl diner booth from Ray.
Kayla sitting on the back of his motorcycle, wearing a helmet so large it nearly covered her eyes.
