She could have read his obituary in the paper but she was probably dropping the needle onto a record instead. All those sock hops—a relentless schedule—meant a girl had to practice. Her legs are so swollen now they couldn’t dance if you paid them. While watching her rocket program, she props the ...
our father said. “The fucking irony.” We watched the moving men tie blankets around the dining-room table. The August sky was hard white. I kept my hands in my pockets. “Moving into the city to get—” But Fod didn’t say safer because that wasn’t really the right word. We were moving to get away fr...