in his pockets.
Mark.
Belle.
People I had not seen together since before the divorce.
My mother held store-bought flowers wrapped in noisy cellophane.
For one strange moment, I simply stared at them.
These people had each, in their own way, told me no when no could have destroyed me.
The last important person who had stood on that step carrying something had been Angela with a notebook.
Now this group had come after my life became valuable.
My mother spoke first.
Her eyes were already wet with the kind
