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

The morning air outside was bitterly cold.

Dry oak leaves rustled loudly on the pavement as I walked down the cracked sidewalk to my car.

My 1998 Buick Century had one hundred and ninety thousand miles on the dashboard, and the heater was completely broken.

I sat shivering in the driver’s seat, waiting for the old engine to warm up enough to put it in gear.

My cell phone buzzed twice in my coat pocket.

It was a text from my half-brother, Dustin.