‘You do this every night.’ His voice was warm and low with a rough edge to it and always reminded me of lava and honey, way too hot with a smooth...sweetness that was a balm to my ears. Now, though, it caused me some distress. I realized that he was right. It had become my habit to sit out here and listen to the radio, usually old country songs and always the classics, drinking a cold beer or two and smoking a half a pack of cigarettes while I thought. Or, more honestly, felt as alone as a. Ete opened up to sense the mood of his girls. Mostly they were saddened by the death of the mothers. Right now, they were talking to Phoebe like she was a long lost sister, which she was, mostly. More

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