Chapter 11

I needed some white paper and a box of crayons for this project. Paper I had. The printer tray was full. As for crayons, I wasn’t sure I’d owned a box of those since leaving the fourth grade. I’d picked up the sixty-four pack from Dollar General on the way home from the tree lot, along with something else I would need. Then I swung by Holiday Brothers’ for two gingerbread cookies and two black and whites—not to eat—though I did end up buying six more of each and eating five.

I put the paper down on the coffee table and traced my hand. In the blink of an eye, it was twenty years earlier.

* * * *

I’d only seen Angel a few times over the entire summer between kindergarten and first grade. Once was in the supermarket, with our moms.

“Hi, Noah.”

“Hi, Angel.”

When my mom chatted with Mrs. Ramos for more than ten seconds, naturally, I got bored.

“Let’s go look at the waterfall in the produce section.”

“You stay right here, Noah.”

Another ten seconds went by.