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CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

1

NOT WANTING TO leave his daughter alone for too long, Richard headed down the hall. How in hell had he forgotten the history and facts about his own hometown like that? Jesus, he used to know them . . . was supposed to know them. And Michelle’s high school term paper—how had that slipped his ‘writerly mind’? It was almost as if a pall covered him, shrouding over his memories once he had left this place, and now that he was back the shroud was falling away . . . the pall lifting.

He supposed it was true then, Thomas Wolfe’s immortal words, published posthumously of course: You really couldn’t go home again, not without displacement like this, without that feeling of having lost something, something which can never be fully retrieved.

In actuality it was not all that surprising. He supposed he’d always wished to forget this place, and now he had. Literally. Selective bits, at least.

Richard brought in Katie’s pastel crayons and her special activity book, the one she a
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