The easy permission was strange, but it gave me exactly what I needed.

It gave me access.

That polite letter became our quiet routine.

Every summer evening, we drove out to the Kearney property to look after the yard.

And every Saturday morning, I got up before dawn and drove the highway out to Hastings.

I spent the next four years holding a sharp dental scaler, grinding through back-to-back shifts.

The clinic’s fluorescent lights hummed constantly over my head.

The double duty wore the cartilage in my hands down to a painful ache.