asked me never to contact him again.
Now his son, Peter, was standing beside me.
“He keeps asking if you’re here yet,” Peter said.
I looked at him.
He had Jeffrey’s eyes.
“Is he awake?”
“He’s trying to stay awake for you.”
For a moment, I almost turned around.
I was sixty years old.
I had spent most of my adult life learning how to exist without Jeffrey.
And less than an hour earlier, I had been sitting alone in my childhood home when the old landline rang.
Now I
