a long time.”
“Yes.”
Don didn’t apologize.
I wasn’t expecting him to.
But at Easter, he sat beside Dad.
Karen and I had set the table for eight.
Dad was there.
Same as everyone else.
Don asked him about the vintage Silverado.
Dad answered.
Then somehow they started talking about the Chicago Cubs.
For twelve years, those two men had apparently shared an interest neither knew existed because nobody had ever created the space for them to discover it.
Dad wore a clean flannel shirt.
He always wore clean clothes
