An accident.
A terrible accident in a driveway, the kind of thing that happens eleven times a day in this country, and my kid was alive and talking and there was a fish on the ceiling.
Then I said, “When did this happen, Wrennie?”
“Yesterday.”
“Yesterday when?”
“After lunch.
We were doing the burgers.”
Twenty-eight hours.
I did the arithmetic standing on asphalt in the dark in my socks and I got twenty-eight hours and I said, carefully, “And nobody called me?”
“Mommy said she would.”
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