A single word slipped through the panicked morass of Gabe’s thoughts, the snatches of grade-school kisses and the taste of lipstick on his tongue, his mother’s hand, perfectly manicured, the news blaring from the old TV in the lake house living room as Tom Brokaw talked about the wall and the drone of a boat motor off in the distance like some ungodly huge fly, the scratch of nails on skin, and the word was: Cuckoo.
