belong to nobody.”
“That’s a nice thing to say, Sarah.”
He looked toward the street.
“But it’s different when there’s paperwork.”
He explained that without legal family, strangers would eventually deal with his remains.
He didn’t want that.
“I just want one person who can say, ‘He’s mine. I’ll take care of him.’”
I was single.
Larry was dying.
And I had always been better at solving problems than walking away from them.
Two days later, we went to the courthouse.
Larry wore a clean blue shirt somebody at the
