After My Father’s

that looked carved by bad winters. He wore a flannel jacket and a Browns cap. He did not shake my hand.

I did not blame him.

Nora sat beside me. His attorney, a woman named Patrice Lane, sat beside him.

The waitress poured coffee nobody touched.

Samuel looked at me for a long time.

“You look like him,” he said finally.

“I know.”

“I hated that face for years.continue reading …