For Eddie
It was a strange thing to be standing in the parlor of the home of a man she hardly thought about.
Edward “Eddie” James had been someone that had only taken up the smallest corner of her mind. He only existed in the confines of a splintered bench in front of the swan boats in the Boston Commons. His gap toothed smile and weathered face, chapped lips, and wrinkled hands were limited to Wednesday afternoons in spring and summer, when the wind blew cold, but the sun shone bright across his dark skin. Eddie’s presence in her life was almost synonymous with Juniper, the spoiled and neurotic Papillon that she only ever walked on Wednesday afternoons for an extra bit of cash to survive being a small-town girl living in a big city.
