CHAPTER EIGHT
When Dad pulled into the driveway, I stepped out of the car and leaned on my cane for support. Maybe I was beginning to understand a few things. The house, the yard, all looked the same. A finch flew by. It flapped its little wings, soared and landed on the mailbox at the edge of the driveway.
Four kids rode by on bicycles. I couldn’t hear the bird chirping, or the kids talking as they passed the house. These were sounds, normal, everyday sounds I never paid any attention to before.
I slammed the car door. Nothing.
A “Welcome Home, Mark” hung over the front door. The door opened and out stepped Mom and Brenda, and pushing her way to the front of the line was Whitney. She galloped toward me. Her tail wagged back and forth so hard she could hardly run straight. Her jaw move
