My Father Tossed a Blue Savings Passbook into the Mud at Cedar Ridge

I could see a black-and-white photograph paper-clipped to the inside of the cover.

“He caused the crash,” Arthur said.

“He walked away with a sprained wrist.

Your mother was killed instantly on impact.”

I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the brown folder.

All those years, Gregory had told me she hit a patch of ice on her way home from work.

“He lied,” I said.

“He lied about how she died.”