rolled up twice.
It took me a minute to recognize it.
It was David’s.
I stood at the counter with the coffee pot in my hand and couldn’t say anything for a while.
Caleb poured himself cereal like nothing was strange. He didn’t look at me.
“That’s Dad’s shirt,” I said finally.
“Yeah.”
“Where did you get it?”
“The box in the garage.”
I’d packed all of David’s clothes into boxes about a year after he died. I couldn’t give them away and couldn’t look at them, so they’d been
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