Justin left the garage door open and led Miranda––pretty name––through the laundry room and into the den. He hadn’t socialized with anyone on Bobwhite Lane since he was a kid, but the feeling of our houses are all the same or mirrors of each other came back to him on a wave of nostalgia. He packed that away quickly, since nostalgia had a funny way of opening the door to grief.

When his parents were alive, this room had been his dad’s den. TV, fireplace, Barcalounger, screen door to the back pati...