A bad feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. Back in Vietnam, that feeling had saved my life more than once.
I grabbed my cane and stepped into the cool night air.
The message repeated several times.
I planned to fabricate some kind of excuse for disturbing the family so late at night, but as my boots hit their lawn, I knew something was wrong.
Their front door was unlatched and standing wide open. I moved closer, and that’s when I heard a loud sound from inside the house, a heavy, hollow thud. Then the shouting started.
I entered the house, then moved into the living room.
A side table lay on its side, its drawer spilled open.
I knew something was wrong.
David stood in the center of the rug, his face red, his chest heaving.
“I am not letting you throw this away! I have built a path for you. I have sacrificed every weekend for ten years so you wouldn’t have to scrounge!”
