“You cannot see all of it,” Frank replied.

“A person’s life is not a photograph you can understand by staring at it.”

Preston accepted the rebuke.

Outside, the wind swept along the sidewalk, carrying scraps of yesterday’s newspaper.

He stood beside his car and remembered Naomi teaching him to plant basil in their first apartment.

She would put the herb pot where he might see it before leaving for work.

He had complained about dirt on the windowsill.