of cinnamon and mahogany faces surrounding Minnie on the front porch, was one white face. It was a face I recognized, one that I never thought I’d see again. Almost thirty years had passed since Clarice and I had last laid eyes on him, but we both knew it was Chick Carlson. His black hair was streaked with gray and he was thicker around the waist now. But he had just grown out of boyishness when he’d left Plainview, so that wasn’t a surprise. Even from where I sat, I could see the pale blue of his eyes and see that he was, in middle age, a mature version of the beautiful kid Clarice had
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