I And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, I Leave not a rack behind.” WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
I get that nothing lasts. But why do I have to miss everybody so much?
TWENTY-FOUR
A MONTH LATER, just after Christmas vacation ended, I got up early and poured a couple bowls of cereal for Mom and me.
I was eating in front of the TV when she walked in, still wearing pajamas, flustered.
“Late late late,” she said. “Hit snooze too many times.” “I made you breakfast,” I told her,
and when she joined me on the couch, she said, “Cheerios aren’t something you make.”
I laughed as she took a few bites, then ran off to get dressed. Always a flurry of movement, my mother.
When I turned back to the TV, a red breaking news band was scrolling across the bottom of the screen.
I saw a reporter standing in front of the gates of the Pickett compound. I fumbled for the remote and unmuted the TV.
“Our sources indicate that while Pickett has not been positively identified, authorities believe the body found in an offshoot of the Pogue’s Run tunnel
is indeed that of billionaire construction magnate Russell Davis Pickett, Sr.
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