I pulled the brass Zippo out of my pocket. Dull from the decades. I held it up to reveal the worn engraving. My fingertips traced the grooves like Braille. STRENGTH TO STRENGTH. I flipped it over. SEND DOWN THE RAIN. I handed it to him. My tether to hope. “Had it done over there . . .” “Why?” “To help me remember.” “Remember what?” “Mom’s voice.”
