Manny’s house stood right where I imagined it might—in the neutral zone of town. North of him were new homes and estates built around the same time as mother and Raymond’s. South of him was the Hispanic and Native American area, the long-settled neighborhoods which had passed from family to family for generations.
The houses in Manny’s neighborhood were an eclectic mix of former farmhouses, leftover ranch styles from a defunct pseudo-burb that never got off the ground, and Victorian gingerbreads past their prime. These were the houses kids from lower-middle-class families aspired to buy because they were affordable and nice.
From the street, the house where Manny slowed down and started to turn into the drive looked like a cozy one-story ranch with additions on either side of the main fa
