SixChicago › Tuesday, December 2, 2008 › 07h10
The grim reminder of the break-in hit home the next morning when Jayson entered his kitchen and flipped on the light. He froze, one bare foot on a white peel-and-stick tile, the other on a black one. His shirtless upper body rippled with goose bumps. They multiplied like cancer as memories of the previous night filled his head.
His skin shivered to induce warmth, which did nothing to reduce the tension.
As he surveyed the damage, thoughts of disaster relief emerged in his head. A framed enlargement of the Cafetal Buenavista coffee plantation ruins remained the only photo still hanging on the wall, above the table. Several others were on the counter in twisted frames with shards of glass, where he’d placed them after saying goodnight to Rick
