Where They Lie (Nora McTavish, #1)

by Joe Hart

I know there will be a morning when I wake up and don’t think of my brother. But it’s not today. I don’t know when that day will come, or if I want it to. What does it say about us when we begin to accept someone else’s sacrifice? When we begin to forget. Is it natural, the way things should be, all ordained and right in the flow of life? Or is it a betrayal to their memory? An injustice.

I pictured driftwood, gray and listless, at the mercy of the sea until it washed ashore out of the reach of uncaring tides, and had to bite the inside of my lip.

Or I could try to quiet the sound of trickling water in the back of my mind. I could try shutting off the leaking faucet.