Chapter 8
NOAH
Monday afternoon
The past is a strange thing.
It shows up when you least expect it.
Like when you’re in the office, trying to focus on work. Or when you’re in Starbucks picking up your latest latte.
Or when you’re in the local Hilton on a cloudy Monday afternoon, trying to forget the last two years.
Yup, the past is strange. But it’s not nice.
And like the not-so-strange little memories that won’t leave me alone right now as I sprawl out on the king bed’s tequila-stained sheets at the Hilton—memories like Grandfather Quinn, quiet and regal on his deathbed, the wet grass underneath my feet at my father’s funeral, the linoleum beneath my shoes as I sign the Visitor Papers to see my mother—I realize something else isn’t so nice.
Me.
But I am simple. And I can live wit
