Marcus had stopped believing in my afters some time ago, I think.

He never said so.

He only kept squaring his receipts and setting one folded square on the table between us, night after night, a small paper reminder that the numbers were real and present-tense whether or not I was willing to be.

Chapter 4 — We Are Family

On Saturday morning I was carrying a bundle of balloons from the garage toward the front door when my mother called, and I balanced the strings against my shoulder and answered.

Are you busy, she asked.