The Tree House Book 1Chapter 1
I’d arrived home just the night before for a Memorial Day weekend visit. Morning had broken as I mindlessly gazed out the double French doors into the backyard where I grew up. No thoughts were rattling through my brain. It was just empty like the backyard. Sipping my morning coffee I heard my Mom shuffling about and then there was her light hand on my shoulder. I leaned my head over giving a little peck to her hand and said in my usual abbreviated way, “Morning!” “Good Morning, Michael,”...