Sublime

Whatever he had been and whatever he’d been called, he was gone, so I did what usually I did around death which was to forget all about it.

Doug spent even more time writing faxes to his two grown kids—Angie, nineteen, and Jaime, twenty-seven—whom he’d raised as a single father.

him

The air outside rumbles as planes lift into the sky, while inside garbled announcements blare over the loudspeaker. Somewhere behind me, an older woman speaks in sharp, staccato Italian. But I don’t look away from the curb, my eyes trained on the crowded sidewalk outside the terminal, searching for her, anchoring my belief—and my entire future—on t

He was forty-two years old, and he could see nothing before him that he wished to enjoy and little behind him that he cared to remember.