Chapter 63

When he got home, he thought he just might make Dee a big pan of that tuna-noodle casserole as a welcome home from the hospital.

He opened his eyes, looking around the living room—at the Hummel figurines in the display case he’d made for her in high school shop, at the windows with their lacy curtains, looking out on the forest behind the trailer park, at the ancient TV with its big picture tube out the back, at her stack of Peoplemagazines, at the coatrack just inside her kitchen door, still hung with jackets and the winter coat she once wore.

All this overloaded him. She was gone.

And yet—she’d always be with him.

He lowered his head and let go of his grief, sobbing until his eyes burned and his throat felt raw.

And then he went to bed in his old room.