Chapter 5Home was never what I expected when I drove down the dead-end street of Tarcomb Avenue to the two-story colonial house nestled behind a mass of blossoming foliage and a white painted picket fence. Maybe the For Sale sign posted on the freshly cut front lawn was an indicator of bad things to come.
I drove my father’s Honda S800 into the circular drive and shut off the car. Staring out at the renovated white clapboard carriage house, I was flooded with memories, growing up with Mom and Dad. I remembered the aromatic smells of bacon and chocolate chip pancakes and smiled at the long ago image of me running down the flight of stairs at five—or was I seven?—to the kitchen. Pulling up a chair next to Dad reading the newspaper and drinking hot coffee rekindled happy thoughts from thirty
