He turned around, about to walk off and leave me there. Something compelled me not to leave it at that. Guilt, maybe? “Do you remember much about him?” I blurted out. Everyone who graduated from Staindrop High knew Dad. He was that teacher. With the checked shirts, nine pens in its breast pocket, and a fanny pack he’d gotten for free from his insurance company. But Dad had never discussed his relationships with other students with me. He’d cared about their privacy just as much as he had about his own. “All the good parts.” His eyes crinkled. “Physics and chemistry were my favorite subjects in
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