“She goes out the front door,” Wayne barked.
The black funeral home van sat idling in the side yard, close to the large sliding glass doors, its back open.
He thought of the day he put the key in the front lock and carried Missy over the threshold.
“But we’re all set through the back door,” the driver said. “Big frame, one step and we’re outta here, sir.”
“She came into this house through the front door, in my arms, and if you make me, she will go back out the same way.”
His voice cracked.
“She deserves the front door.”