Knocking on the door, I wait for Zoey to say something. All I hear is a deathly sounding groan with a heaving cough. “Zoey, are you all right, what ...s wrong?” Asking through the door, I press my ear close to the door. The coolness of the wood against the side of my face. “No, I don't think I'm going to live. Call work for me, let them know I've died.” “I'm coming in, don't be so dramatic.” Opening the door, I see her in her bath robe, one slipper on, the other beside the tub. She has her face. And today, the day of the anniversary, his widow had taken out her grief and rage. Dad had stepped out of the station, on his way to meet Mom for lunch, and Mrs. Hanover had shot him twice in the chest. I was asking God why the hell he couldn't take me when Brad ruffled my bangs and plopped down on the bench beside me."He's not going to die," he said gently. "Your Mom hasn't given him permission."I giggled and tears began streaming down my cheeks. Seconds later I was sobbing and he pulled me. More

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