“I like it better in Vacca Vale,” whispered his youngest child and only girl, Tina, eight years old, revealing her shambolic teeth in the dark, which would soon cost Reggie his overtime. Tina was not yet an alcoholic married to an incarcerated robber; she was a child who loved Atomic Fireball candies, jungle ecosystems, and doing “gymnastics” off the diving board. Her pillowcase, which she insisted on bringing, was printed with tigers. Campfire smoke in her hair. “I like our weather,” she whispered. “Back home.”
