The week after Julian shows me the photograph, I discover that sleep is a door I can't unlock.
Monday night I lie awake until the clock reads 4:12 AM. Tuesday night I pace the living room until my feet ache and the Penobscot Building fades from red to gray. Wednesday night I gave up entirely and stationed myself on the bathroom floor with my back against the cold marble wall and my knees pulled tight to my chest.
I'm not haunted by nightmares. I'm not haunted by the threats. I'm haunted by the face on that printed page. Familiar eyes. Familiar grin. A face I trusted more than any face on earth except my father's.
Dani.
It can't be accurate. It refuses to be accurate. Dani is my best friend. She clutched my hand at my father's first chemo appointment. She hauled cheap wine and cheaper p
