Walter.
What are yours?” The tallest one was Marcus.
The one with the torn sneaker was Darnell.
The quietest one, the one who hadn’t stopped watching Walter with an expression balanced exactly between hope and suspicion, was Calvin.
They were 9 years old.
They were triplets.
And they had been alone for 11 days.
Their mother, a woman named Sharon, had died of a cardiac event in late November.
No father in the picture.
He’d been gone since before the boys could remember.
No grandparents living.
One aunt in Detroit
