17.
Napa, California—November 12, 2010The question why lingers in my head. Why would Kelly want me to disappear? No answer occurs. At that moment, I hear the mail carrier’s truck brake out front, and I’m expecting my first big disability check from the government anytime soon now. So I push the question to the back of my mind, and walk out to our mailbox to pick up the mail.
I quickly thumb through a magazine, a flat circular, and five letters, mostly junk, and no check yet. Damn it, I swear, disappointed. But as I take the handful back into the house, I glance down again at a piece of first-class on top. It’s from our State Farm insurance agent, addressed to Kelly. And, for some reason, at that moment I remember the mysterious envelope in the scary metal-man dream. The one Kelly had hel
