The sky was black as coal.
The neighborhood was asleep.
On their parents’ porch, Liam could almost hear his brothers’ thoughts against the omnipresent silence. Sometimes, a cricket sung in the moist grass, and a car could be heard on some other street. But never this one. No, this one was as quiet as a grave.
Their mother had retired to her bedroom, weakened by the night’s turbulent events. She would slip into her night gown now, prep her pillows, fill a glass of water to leave on the nightstand, brush her thinning hair, braid it, and then roll it into a tight bun. When she was certain that Patrick was sound asleep at her side, she would flick the reading light on and open her book. She would read until her mind was tired enough to stop imagining what her life could have been like if he
