seven hours with the radio off.
And on a Tuesday afternoon in September, he knocked on my door.
Which brings us back to the apple slices.
The knock was soft.
Almost uncertain.
I wasn’t expecting anyone.
Through the front window, I saw part of a tall man in a delivery-company polo shifting his weight on my porch.
It took a second to recognize him.
Then another to breathe.
Danny.
Four years older around the eyes.
My little brother standing on the far side of my blue door with my past
