As I stood on my doormat, I waved at him. He backed out of the driveway,
and then I went into the garage, opened Harold’s trunk, and grabbed my dad’s phone, because I felt like looking at his pictures.
I snuck past Mom, who was asleep on the couch in front of the TV.
I found an old wall charger in my desk, plugged in Dad’s phone, and sat there for a long time swiping through his photos,
scrolling through all the pictures of the sky split open by tree branches.
“You know we’ve got those on the computer,” Mom said gently from behind me.
I hadn’t heard her get up. “Yeah,” I said. I unplugged the phone and shut it off.
“Were you talking to him?” “Kinda,” I said. “What were you telling him?”
I smiled. “Secrets.” “Ah, I tell him secrets, too. He’s good at keeping them.”
“The best,” I said. “Aza, I’m very sorry if I hurt Davis’s feelings.
And I’ve written him an apology note as well. I took it too far.
But I also need you to understand—” I waved her away. “It’s fine. Listen, I gotta change.”
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