How an Email Invitation to a Colorado Christmas Dinner Ended Eight Years of Separation
“He doesn’t.”
“Does he know we live in a four-bedroom house on Maple Street?”
“He doesn’t know the house exists,” I said, laying my black ink pen flat on the blotter.
“That seems like an incomplete record,” Sam said.
“It was his choice to leave the record empty,” I said.
At two forty-five in the afternoon, the lobby of the pediatric clinic smelled of lemon disinfectant and clean paper and was crowded with parents waiting on youth sports clearances.
I sat on the wooden bench with a clipboard on my knees, filling out the physical fitness forms for the winter hockey league.