DANIJ
ack’s darkened house looked small and forlorn in the midday light. Its gutters sagged with leaves from the withered walnut tree. A single shutter was missing from the front window. A wave of sadness filled Dani’s chest.
Monica pulled her beat-up Mazda into the driveway, its nearly-bald tires skidding on wet concrete. Dani parked beside her, turning to Jack, sleeping, in the backseat. She said, “We’re home,” adopting an authoritative tone.
Jack, wearing sweats with hospital socks stuffed into the large boots of a dead man, grumbled. He uncurled a middle finger.
“Real pretty.” Dani stepped out of the car.
“We can’t carry him like that big paramedic did,” Monica said, her voice low enough for only Dani to hear. Monica’s whisper was filled with fear.
“We can try.”
Monica nodded bu
