Page 135 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

The kind of afternoon that makes you believe in normal things.

Like hot dogs and sunscreen and cheering too loud from aluminum bleachers.

Evan looks so small out there in his oversized uniform.

His cap keeps slipping down over his eyes, and every time he adjusts it, my heart squeezes.

He doesn’t deserve this.

None of it.

Poor Kelly.

First her soon-to-be ex-husband runs off with a woman half his age, taking their minivan like he’s fleeing a crime scene.

Then this morning she finds out he cleared their joint account.

And worse—he drained Evan’s college fund.

That part guts me.

Money can be replaced.

Pride can recover.

But stealing from your own child? That’s a special kind of cruelty.

Kelly is holding herself together with duct tape and caffeine.

She smiles.

She packs snacks.

She cheers like nothing is wrong.

But I’ve heard her crying at night through the thin hallway walls.

And it brings me face to face with the truth.

My stay here is temporary.

I don’t live in Woodhaven.

I live in Manhattan.

Even thinking the word makes something tighten around my ribs.

Manhattan.

Glass towers. Sidewalk noise. Reservations and deadlines, and curated brunches.

And yet—when I picture going back, it feels like leaving something unfinished.

Like I’m stepping out of a story mid-chapter.

Maybe I do belong here.

The thought slips in quietly.