He cleared his throat. He looked up at us once, and then back down, and he didn't look up again until he was finished.
"My. Name. Is. Ted. Dom-bek."
He read it the way you'd walk across a frozen pond. One foot, test it, then the next. His finger moved under each word. His lips moved before the sound came out.
"I am. Forty. One. I work. Worked. At the Point. Twenty. Three. Years." He stopped, breathed. "I. Have. A wife. Her name. Is. Ro-sa-lie. She is. Smart. She is. The. Smartest. Per—person. I. Know."
My mother made a sound and put her hand over her mouth.
"I. Have. A son. His name. Is. Joey. He is. Eleven. He. Will be. Twelve. On. Nov—Nov-em-ber. Twen-ty. One." He was going slower now. The streetlight hummed. Across the street Mrs. Iannuzzi had come all the way out onto her steps. "I. Have. A cat. His name. Is. Boog." My father's voice wobbled on the cat's name and he had to stop and start again. "Boog. He. Sits. On. The. Book."
"He does," I said, before I could help it. My mother squeezed my shoulder hard.
"I came. Here. Be—be-cause. I. Can. Not. Read." He took a long breath. The next part had more crossing out than the rest. I could see it. "I. Want. To. Read. A book. To my son. Be-fore. He. Is. Too. Big. For it. I. Want. To. Read. My wife. A letter. That. I. Wrote. My. Self. I. Want. To. Take. The. Test." He stopped. He looked at the last line for a long time, his finger on it, and his mouth moved twice with no sound before he got it out. "I. Want. My. Fa-ther. Was. Not. A-shamed."
He lowered the book.