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Summary
Ronan was the natural product of a month like November. It was the sudden shift of something comfortable into something dangerous; it tapped Ronan on the shoulder like it would punch him when he turned around to look. In his interactions with others, Ronan tended to take a similar tactic.
For the nineteenth time, Ronan’s birthday waited at the beginning of November like a razor blade in an apple.
The first cut it made was this: 8:15 am mass at St. Agnes Church.
After mass, Ronan ducked out the door and into his car and did not, did not look to the tiny, slanting attic apartment where Adam Parrish had lived.