“Their existence had the quality of a fable, or myth; no woman in my bloodline discussed the father of her child. Not ever. Not in the journals they kept, not in the lore. Even sex was a taboo subject. I had to learn about it from reading books in the library or snatching glimpses of Cinemax on hotel television late at night while my mother was out hunting zombies. Made sense, in retrospect. Sex and men led to babies. A baby meant death, murder—a hard good-bye. My grandfather sat at the ...bottom of the stairs, legs stretched in front of him. I sat at his side. We held cups of hot tea. I did not drink, but Jack sipped his with great care. A long scratch covered the side of his face. He needed a shave, a shower. His messenger bag was gone. No sign of the shotgun. He trembled every time he took a breath, and I listened to the rattling in his chest with unease. “I was told you had been captured,” I said. “A lie,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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