A Tin of Old Photographs Revealed Why a Best Friend Kept Helping

tattoo in January,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Six months ago, right after we buried him. I lied to you about nineteen.”

“I know,” I said, holding the car door open.

“I went to the shop on Oak Street,” he said, looking down at his polished leather shoes. “I showed them the photograph of Mike’s arm. I thought if I had continue reading …