I Got Home From the Oil Rig Two Weeks Early and Found My Eight-Year-Old Son Cooking Dinner for Strangers—The Messages He Never Sent Explained Everything.
“Can I read it?” I asked him.
He turned the screen my way.
Day 365.
Dad picked me up from school and he was early.
He’s always early now.
I’m taller than the doorknob on the shed.
I don’t think about the shed very much anymore.
Rig is fat.
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