NORA
Nora’s father was wearing his jeans and one of his few sweatshirts that didn’t have a sports team logo on it. He’d combed his hair and put on his loafers instead of his slippers, and he looked nice in a way he hadn’t in a decade and a half. As they drove to the school they talked it through again. He would spend first period in the staff room. During second and fifth periods – Nora’s sixth grade classes – he would make his presentation. In between, Nora would invite Sal to join them for lunch.
‘Don’t ask him anything about Adam yet,’ she said. ‘We’re just trying to get him to trust us.’
‘I know, I know.’ She’d said the same thing a dozen times already.
When second period came Nora parked her father’s wheelchair by her door and helped him to the chair she’d put beside the bulletin
