It was dusk and he said, “Wait, wait, before we go in, come here, you’ve got to see this.” And we tromped through some snow and he grabbed my shoulder and said, “Just take a look.” And we looked up at this great house. A porch wrapped all the way around, a large round window mooned down above the driveway. “It took three years,” he said. He sounded proud.
My sister on her afternoon with Andre Dubus III—he showed her the house he built. His dad, Andre Dubus, is a favorite of both of ours; Nina’s reviewing the III’s memoir, Townie, coming from Norton in February.
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