I Paid My Father $250 in Rent Every Month for Five Years. After His Funeral, His Best Friend Gave Me a Key and a Box.

PART 18

On what would have been Dad’s birthday, I invited Frank, Owen, Pete, Rebecca, and Maya to dinner at the house.

There was no ceremony, no announcement that we were all supposed to forgive or remember him in a particular way.

I made a big pot of chili, and Frank brought cornbread that he insisted was homemade until Rebecca recognized the bakery box in his car.

Over dinner, stories accumulated.

Owen recalled a terrible hotel where Northline had played a wedding and the ceiling leaked directly above the drummer.