PART 2

The question stayed between Gabriel and me while the last of the evening traffic whispered along Oakridge Avenue.

He looked older than I remembered, of course.

The boy I had once watched from our kitchen window had been all sharp elbows and hunger.

The man in front of me had neat hair, a tailored coat and the tired expression of someone who had traveled a long way without being sure he would be welcomed.

“Your mother wanted me to tell you herself,” he said.