Vito awoke with a start. He looked around and realized he must have sleepwalked, because he was lying on Sal’s old bed. Watery grayish light seeped in through the single window, imbuing the room with a kind of black-and-white unreality. It must be just before the dawn, Vito thought, sitting up.
He had to resist casting a gaze around the room, searching for his little boy. The dream fragments stayed with him, and it made him feel almost as if his son were there, which was both a good and a bad thing. Good because he could savor the feeling of the little boy being close once more. Bad because it ripped the scab off the wound, made the approaching day outside that much harder to bear.
He stood up and moved to the window. Sal’s room faced Morse Avenue, and the street below was just beginning
