Chapter 11FRITZ HAD TOLD his mother he'd try to make it home for Thanksgiving. Home? This is home. This is where Thanksgiving should be. Fritz gazed out the kitchen window, a cup of coffee in front of him. By the backyard bushes, fluttering wings displayed a fierce battle, as the sparrows held on in the brisk wind. I've got to go back to work. A strong gust tried again to chase the birds from the bush. As he raised the cup to sip, a squirrel looked in, an acorn in its paws. I can't stay here. I need the noise. I need the distraction.
He grabbed his jacket and walked out the front door. Driving made his stitches rebel if he bent his knees too far. But he'd walked to school more than once. I'll go see George and tell him I'll be back on Monday. Then I'll stop and see Ash. Maybe we can go so
