Set in the glitter and grime of Reno, in the saintliness and severity of Salt Lake
City and in the defiant streets of Philadelphia, the Percolators are up to their
necks in big rig trucking, Latter Day Saints proselytizing and racial strife.
A glance. The recognition. A smile. The eyes fall away. If only she would pause
and say, “hi dad.” She walks past me down the aisle. For her, the glance means .
. . a distraction? For me, I see the past twenty-five years resurrecting itself.
Love lost—her mother’s and mine. Her mother’s anger and then revulsion towards me.