Publisher's Synopsis
Mundy's making his move.
He still drinks too much. Nothing new there. He just drives a lot less, which is good. He still holds on to the hope that stolen vestiges of a stillborn son survive and live now in another child. He believes he knows who the child is. Was. See, she is no longer a child, so he tries to insinuate himself into her life. It is hard to tell when belief and faith metastasize into madness and obsession. How can you know? You can't. You can try to create some normality, for sure. You can move to a new town. You can make new friends. You can search for the right words or enough alcohol. You can still be deceived. Maybe he will find wisdom in the words of a pretty young bartender who just happens to live next door. Or maybe he will trust her with his secrets, or worse, his hopes. Maybe the truth lies somewhere on White Store Road, in pieces on the ground, piling up and waiting. Maybe it lies in a father's words of faith. Faith: the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Believing when all hope is gone, hoping that redemption is possible for the damn mess he has made of his life. Is there any good that can come out of this? You bet.
