For Seven Years I Sent Forty Thousand Dollars Every January, Until Emma Finally Spoke

That takes long hours.”

“He does not go to work on Saturdays,” she said.

“He puts on his nice clothes.”

I looked at the strawberry swirl melting in my paper cup.

“Where does he go?” I asked.

Emma scraped her wooden spoon along the bottom of her cup.

“You have to follow him,” she said quietly.

The wooden bench felt very cold under me.