"Is this 598 Martin Creek Road?"
The black truck skid to a halt next to my brother and me in our long driveway.
"Uhm.. Yes sir? What's going on?"
The man didn't answer and instead sped toward our house. I knew right away that something was wrong.
Dakota and I started to walk quickly just as our Aunt Hazel turned into the drive.
"Get in, babies. Your Mama called me a few minutes ago."
We looked at each other and got in Aunt Hazel's van. She drove quickly to our house and parked, leaping from her van almost before the engine cut off.
"Stay there, babies! Don't get out of the van."
Dakota threw open his door and I followed as quickly as I could. Mama was standing next to her little green car, her hands over her face. We could hear her sobbing from across the yard. Something was horribly wrong. When we looked toward our house, we knew immediately what had upset her so terribly.
Our father lay facedown on the front steps, his coffee cup upright on the wooden step above him. He wasn't moving and he wasn't breathing. Our father was dead.