“The forgotten suspect, the DNA, and the church murders that haunted a detective.”
[ASJA Award Winner for First Person Story] A writer learns to cope with her husband’s brain injury:
“The low point for me came a few months after the accident, just shy of our 24th anniversary — the night I realized life would never be the same again. I had been chopping root vegetables to roast for dinner. Kevin was leaning against the refrigerator, keeping me company, and we were laughing for what seemed like the first time in a long time. Then in that instant, he did not know my name and had no idea who I was.
“After more than a quarter of a century of constant togetherness — running our own business together and sharing an office in our house — he could not remember my name. When I saw the look of puzzlement and pain flicker in his dark eyes as his mind searched his now flawed data banks, I rushed to help him.
“‘Echo, my name’s Echo,’ I said gently.”