Twenty-Two
I UTTER A QUICK PRAYER when we step inside Roland Crescent’s home.
Nate wasn’t kidding.
This place looks awful, and smells worse.
I’ll never complain about Mom’s attic again.
“Come in, come in!” Roland says, grinning to show his missing and broken teeth. He has a two or three-day growth of beard and a tuft of white hair sprouting from his otherwise bald head. He appears to be about Anna’s age, but his mannerisms are that of a much older man. Even though it’s warm inside, he’s wearing a faded and threadbare pullover sweater over at least one long-sleeved shirt, along with jeans that have seen better days.
Nate makes the introductions, with Roland shaking our hands with enthusiasm. He’s particularly taken with Gladys, saying, “Aren’t you a pretty little thing, just like Nate
