The following day, Saturday, he waited on the porch of Marie’s two-story home in a suburb of Houston. His mother had given him the address.
He couldn’t bring himself to knock.
“Hello?” a child’s voice sounded from behind him.
Hunter spun around.
The boy bent down and lifted his skateboard before climbing the two steps to meet Hunter where he stood.
“Can I help you?”
The boy couldn’t be older than seven with brown wavy hair and bright eyes looking up at him. He reminded Hunter of Rachel’s boy.
“Do you live here?”
“Yeah.”
“I came to talk to your mom.”
“Okay.”
He powered by Hunter and opened the front door. “C’mon.” He looked back at Hunter.
Hunter stayed put.
“Mom!” the boy called out.
“In here.”
A faint smell of cinnamon hung in the air as Hunter entered the house.
A woman s
