by Jacqueline Goyette Leonardo Yip I’m sorry for this morning, for the fact that I was still in bed when we heard from you, your voice was tinny and small and fearful and we were still asleep. The car crash. 4 am. You driving home on the long road from Urbisaglia to pick up your luggage, to meet us in Macerata. We still had the drive to Rome ahead of us and then a flight to New York City and then, finally, Indianapolis. Then came that phone call. Your father sent us photos of