“I can take the rest of the day off if you need me to keep you company,” Dad said when he pulled onto Charles Avenue, heading down the street towards our house.
We sat in the driveway, Dad turning off the vehicle and his jazz music and giving me his attention.
“I loved Grams,” I said, fiddling with the zipper on my backpack, opening and closing it until Dad placed his hairy hand on top of mine to stop my annoying habit.
I stared out the passenger side window into our neighbors’ front yard, their five-year-old Beagle named Booboos lifting his hind leg and taking a whiz on a crooked, old elm tree down the street that a quarter of the neighbors wanted to chop down because it had lived a long life and it was time to replace it with something new, younger.
Booboos was full of life and energ
