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Mom had another glass of wine. Little Matt was in bed. Dad was out and would sl**p it off all night in his chair. Mom’s words were getting slurred (...oo much wine). Terry said she was going up to bed and took Mom’s hand saying “ come on Mom I’ll help you upstairs and tuck you in. I was 11:30 when I went up to bed leaving dad out cold. Terry was asl**p when I pulled on my pajamas. I kissed her cheek and told her I was going back downstairs. I closed the door and stepped across the hall and peeked. Like it knew how disturbing seeing it would be to one of us. As though it goaded me — and took pleasure in knowing. Even then, in those first moments, my mind, of course, refused to believe what was right there. A veil slid across the empirical and I simply refused to accept the evidence of my own senses. This had to be an elaborate practical joke. The lads in the pub, the boys I worked and drank with had cooked up this scheme. They knew I’d take the shortcut home and they’d set this up. It had. More

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