“You can’t change it,” Leo said. It wasn’t a question.
He stepped back through the door.
His mother nodded, already starting to fade like a photograph left in the sun. “I know, baby. That’s what it means to be past 4:11. You carry it with you, but you don’t live there.”
Leo stood. His legs felt like sandbags. He walked to the door, turned the handle, and stepped through.
The waitress passed by, wiping her hands on her apron. “What’ll it be, hon?”
“Where’s ‘back’?”
“You can’t change it,” Leo said. It wasn’t a question.
He stepped back through the door.
His mother nodded, already starting to fade like a photograph left in the sun. “I know, baby. That’s what it means to be past 4:11. You carry it with you, but you don’t live there.”
Leo stood. His legs felt like sandbags. He walked to the door, turned the handle, and stepped through.
The waitress passed by, wiping her hands on her apron. “What’ll it be, hon?”
“Where’s ‘back’?”
