The garage felt different after the trip to Michigan.
Adam couldn't explain it. The same tools hung on the same hooks. The same cars sat on the same lifts. The same radio played the same old songs. But something had shifted. The air was heavier. The light was dimmer.
He found himself staring at the photograph David had given him. His father, young and smiling, his arm around a man who had made people disappear. The image didn't fit the man Adam remembered. The man who taught him to fix engines. Who took him to baseball games. Who kissed his mother on the forehead every morning before work.
“You've been quiet,” Sandra said, walking into the office. She set a cup of coffee on the desk.
“Thinking.”
“About your father?”
“About how little I knew him.”
She sat on the edge of the desk. “Yo
