He knelt on the grass by his son’s memorial stone. Poor Auntie, bless her for scrounging up enough money to carve Hoang’s initials. He traced the letters: K for Kei, jubilation; H-H for Huy Hoang, glorious. It was true: the boy had been a miracle, speaking in complete sentences at two years old, writing his name at three, and doing simple math at four.
