I simply wanted to know where it was.
It was a good plan.
It lasted one afternoon.
June’s house stood three blocks off the state route.
It looked smaller than I remembered, the way childhood houses always do.
She was on the porch before I switched off the engine.
Eighty-two.
Oxygen line over her ears.
Standing even though standing clearly cost her something.
I lifted Marin from the car.
My daughter, normally suspicious of mail carriers, marched directly up the porch steps.
June put both shaking hands around Marin’s face
