slammed door.
He simply decided that the life he had built with us wasn’t the life he wanted anymore.
He remarried.
He lives in Phoenix now.
He sends a Christmas card every year.
My mother raised me alone.
During the week, she worked at the accounting office.
On weekends, she waited tables at a restaurant until nearly eleven at night.
Saturday evenings, I stayed with our neighbor, Mrs. Garza, a seventy-year-old widow who smelled like talcum powder and let me watch television as long as I didn’t make too much
