… family resemblance. Maureen?
Hell, yeah. Just like me. Trey.
Leave her be. Grandfather.
What’s going on here? Preacher.
I am lifted. Supported.
Directed to a chair.
Someone hands me water.
I am mortified.
I AM ALSO CLAUSTROPHOBIC
With all these people clustered
around me. I feel like a grape,
being squashed into juice.
“Could I please have some air?”
Everyone takes one step back.
I can’t help but stare at Trey.
His dark hair is shot through
with silver. More salt than pepper.
The skin on his face is deeply
etched with a web of lines.
His eyes—black walnut—
are familiar. They are Grandfather’s.
He takes my interest as an invitation
to move closer again. Bryce stops
him with a hand to the arm. Excuse
me, but she asked for a little room.
Trey shakes Bryce’s grip.
Excuse me, boy, but I haven’t
seen my daughter in a long time.
I’m just taking a little inventory.
Bryce looks at me with eyes