Ezoic
“And,” Floyd continued, “we want you to live with us. Permanently. It’s too big a house for just the two of us. And you shouldn’t be alone.”
I thought about it. The house Martha and I had shared felt empty without her. Every room held memories that hurt.
A fresh start sounded good. Living with family sounded better.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll help.”
Floyd smiled. Hugged me. “Thanks, Dad. This means everything.”
We went to the closing together. Floyd, Pamela, me, and the attorney—a man named Gerald Moss who specialized in real estate.
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