Back in high school, I had been the “big” grieving kid nobody looked at unless they wanted a laugh.
She shook her head. “I can’t. My brother’s waiting. He’s not well. I’m his only caregiver.”
“Only caregiver?”
“After our mom passed away, it’s just me.” Charlotte forced a tired smile. “Goodnight, sir.”
She hurried back through the rain. I watched from the window as she crossed the driveway to a rusted Mustang parked under the streetlamp. She turned the key, but the car wouldn’t start.
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