““Hey, who’s that?” Dad hollered from upstairs when I slid open the back door and hurried through the family room. “It’s me!” I hollered back. I took the basement steps two at a time and washed the bottoms of the cleats in the laundry sink, swiping at them with a brush Brian uses to clean the hedgehog terrarium. The cleats were still a little bit stinky and a lot wet, but at least I could wear them to practice without half the team passing out. When I was done, I noticed Dad’s books lined up on ...shelves made of boards and cinder blocks. He’d never taken them to Boston. They were all out of order, so I hoped that I could find the book I was looking for, if it was even there. It was. The Collected Stories of Maxwell Bailey, in paperback. The cover image was of a forest with innumerable eyes among the trees. It was hard to tell if there were things hidden there or if the trees themselves could see, but either way the effect was creepy. The cover bragged that the book included “Twenty-four color plates of illustrations,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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