I go back about once a year. For a short time they allowed me to share the warmth of their lives. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. “Odd little room,” said Ann Veronica, dimly apprehending that obtrusive sofa. My foster mom works there as a second job. “Please come home.
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