on my porch steps and cried into his hands.
I brought him inside.
What else was there to do?
He stayed at my kitchen table for two hours.
Then he asked the question nobody in the Ives family had ever asked.
“How did he die, Tori?”
And he listened to the entire answer.
When he left, he placed a cream-colored envelope carefully on the porch railing.
My name.
My mother’s handwriting.
Inside was a printed invitation.
Homecoming Sunday.
October 12.
First Grace Church.
All are welcome home.
“She wants you
