“Gus’s place? It was his place, too. But had it ever really been his home? He had grown up there. No amount of repainting, relandscaping, or refurnishing could change that fact. Driving along Ridge Road now, with Gus dead and gone, he had to acknowledge the connection. He parked beside the tiny house and walked inside as he had thousands of times as a kid. The small living room was the bedroom that he and Donny had shared. Dropping into the sofa, he heard the sounds of those years—yelling, but l...aughter, too. Gus wasn’t happy by nature, but John’s mother was. And Donny. He and Donny had fun times. John put his head back and closed his eyes. He felt weary in ways that went beyond the physical—weary in ways that had to do with being the only surviving male in this house, the head of the family, so to speak. Arguably, he had borne that responsibility for the past three years. But bringing food, paying a maid, and repairing the house were physical things. What he felt now was emotional.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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