My father was on the telephone when I walked into his house. He was casually dressed in a pair of navy Dockers and a light blue button-down shirt. Douglas Townsend and I share the same dull, sandy-colored hair although his had become streaked with gray in the last few years. Although my dad isn’t a tall man, he’s taller than I am, clocking in around 5’9” to my 5’4”. Over the last few years, he’d developed a bit of a gut, but was still in relatively good shape. He used to run, but was forced to stop about a year ago because of knee problems.
Not wanting to eavesdrop on my father’s conversation, I was about to signal to him that I’d be in the kitchen when Dax ran into the room and ambushed me, jumping at me and sniffing my shirt. I missed Dax. Leaving him behind when my parents divorced hur
