PART 3   I stared at the hospital bracelet in the lunchbox until the letters of my own name blurred.

out his van.

Inside were almost no possessions.

Two shirts.

A blanket.

A toolbox.

A coffee can full of screws.

And every foil label my mother had ever written his name on.

Not all of them, of course.

But hundreds.

Mr. Reeves.

Mr. Reeves.

Mr. Reeves.

Stacked flat and tied with string.

I held them in my hands.

“You kept these?”

He looked embarrassed.

“She made me feel continue reading …