“He’s got two different Social Security numbers typed into the primary spouse line.

One for a woman named Brenda and one for Clara.”

“Put those papers down!” David screamed, his voice carrying out into the parking lot as the sliding doors opened for another shopper.

Wyatt didn’t move an inch.

He kept David hoisted up in the air, his grip like iron, David’s feet dangling an inch over the linoleum as Wyatt held him by the collar.

On Friday morning, the emergency room doctor at Saint Luke’s pressed two cold fingers against the right side of my rib cage.