In the morning, the suit was hanging on the back of my bedroom door. It was pressed. The sleeves were the right length. A little note pinned to the lapel in her handwriting. ShopMen’s Suits
Be a gentleman. Be home by 1. Love you. — Mom
My own car, a 2006 Corolla with two hundred and forty thousand miles on it, made a noise for a week like a bag of bolts in a dryer. I didn’t trust it to get across town.
Uncle Frank is my mom’s older brother. He lives two streets over. He has a 1998 Buick LeSabre the color of old mustard, which he’s owned since it was new and treats like a member of the family.
He handed me the keys in his driveway like he was handing over a newborn baby.
“Don’t touch the radio,” he said.
“Why not?”
“It changes stations by itself.”
