As some small semblance of the fight in him, Jake deposited the bag of litter in the doorway of the room—not in it, as the old man wanted, but not so far out of it that his mother would be pissed if Mr. Wagner mentioned the little act of resistance in passing. He turned toward the door, intent on leaving, when he caught sight of the hallway leading to the bedroom and stopped in mid-step.
Framed photographs covered the wall from as high up as the old man could reach to hammer in a nail to about halfway down, where a credenza blocked the rest of the wall. More photos stood on the credenza. Jake could tell they were old by the lack of color—they were sepia-toned, some of them yellowed and cracked, but none seemed to have been taken with color film. Despite his eagerness to leave, Jake found
