“Do you have an extra pair of work gloves in the shed?”

My mother stepped down off the porch, wiping her hands over and over on her canvas apron.

“There’s a clean pair of yellow cotton gloves on the bench by the water tub, Ruth,” my mother said.

“The small size should fit you.”

“Thank you,” Ruth said.

She set her leather handbag on the hood of Carl’s old tractor and walked toward the shade of the wash awning.

Mark watched his mother walk away from him without looking back once.