Epilogue
I’ve been traveling now for twenty-eight years. Most of the time, I feel the pull before it takes me, but even now, it sometimes catches me unaware and I find myself shoeless in some place around my hometown. I’ve never moved—never wanted to and never felt like it was the right thing to do.
Over the years, I’ve seen dozens of ghosts—every single one of them black, every single one of them killed because of that fact. Each time, my friends—the ones who stayed in Terra Linda like Mom and Isaiah, Shamila, Mr. Meade, and Blanch, and the ones who moved away like Marcie and Nicole, Javier, and Beatrice—rallied with research and wisdom, moral support and publicity. Our relationships changed—Javier and I didn’t make it long-term, but we stayed friends, and I married that awkward red-hea
