Three Days Before the Casket Was Delivered, My Son Asked Me to Sign a Document

“And what did you tell him?”

“That we’re praying for you.” She shoved the window closed.

The lock clicked.

I waited until she had gone back inside.

Then I reached behind the rain barrel for Bunny.

The damp fur smelled of leaves.

At four that afternoon I sat across from Arthur Pendelton in his office on Main Street.

He had three file folders spread open on the desk and his glasses in one hand.