One train a day used the tracks, freight, with a few tanker cars that didn’t look to be volatile, based on their symbols, but Hank Daylen figured they were probably a little more dangerous than milk or pudding.
Other than the train passing, usually about 7:30 am as Pete left for school, the neighborhood was quiet.
Tree lined streets, crime non-existent, lots of parks, sports leagues, a movie theater.
One day Hank would tell Pete about his life growing up in Detroit, Pete’s grandpa ODing, all of it, full punch, no gloss.
But the kid was eight.
Hank wished he could buy his own oblivious innocence with the same money he bought the house.
Autumn was all in favor of letting Pete turn eighteen before he knew about his father’s background, and Hank, in no hurry to begin with, kept pushing back the talk.
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