The Last Good Thing The screen door clicked open. I was on my knees on her porch, a bundle of faded quilt in my arms. My mail satchel was tossed forgotten by the steps. The old woman stood there, a silhouette against the dark hallway behind her. Her eyes went straight to the blanket. Then to my face. A sound caught in her throat. Her knees seemed to give, just a little. “Please,” she whispered, a sound so thin it was almost carried away by the breeze. “Tell me my Buddy is still breathing.” I pul

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