Chapter 14I drove by my childhood home that morning for the last time, a month after my realtor, Kathy Wallace, sold it to a family of four on the morning of my father’s death.
“This is a good thing,” she told me when we last spoke outside the house. “I see bright things in your future.”
She sounded like a campy fortuneteller, but I nodded and thanked her for her patience and understanding. We shook hands and went our separate ways.
I stayed a little longer after she left, and sat in the driver’s seat of my father’s red sports car, watching the house, leaving behind a lifetime of memories: my father reading the newspaper at the kitchen table; the acrid smell of his pipe smoke wafting around the house, and hearing my mother telling him to put it out while we ate breakfast. I smiled at th
