Through the weeping household stalked a small black cat—just past kittenhood, and more gamine than gangly. She darted past the skirts of a grieving wife as the woman buried her face in a ... [+]
The last time I saw my father he was wearing a toupee that looked like a year's worth of dryer lint, a worn-out Carolina t-shirt, the blue almost white now, green golfing shorts, and penny loafers with actual pennies in them. No socks. He was waving at my wife and me as we drove away in the car he had just given us; he said he wouldn't be needing it anymore. I watched him in the rear view mirror until he stopped waving, his arm slowly dropping to his side, and then watched him watch us as we disappeared around the big curve, the hairpin, where who knows how many lives had been lost – lost we c