My Son Brought

I heard children shouting.

I smelled ham, cinnamon, pine.

My mother stepped slightly outside and pulled the door partly closed behind her.

That was the second warning.

“Caleb, honey,” she said, “tonight really isn’t a good time.”

He blinked.

The smile stayed on his face for half a second too long, like his body hadn’t caught up with the injury.

“What?” I continue reading …