said. “I think you married someone who doesn’t know himself yet. I’m his mother, and I’ve been watching him try to be somebody else for twenty years.”
Cullen came on the twelfth day.
He didn’t call first. He just showed up on a gray, windy Saturday morning in Miles’s old pickup truck.
I was on the porch. I’d been out there since six, watching the sky.
There was a storm out in the Atlantic. Not a hurricane, just a big nor’easter-type system the weather people were calling a “coastal low.”
