Brandon Poured Cold Beer Over Sarah Before He Learned About Her Athletic Past
“I’m sixty-eight years old, Sarah.”
“I’ll ask him about it.”
“You do that.”
We had the surveys unrolled on the kitchen table by half past two, the corners weighted with a sugar bowl and two coffee mugs, when the back door opened without a knock.
Brandon came in with his keys and set them on the counter hard enough to skid.
“What is she doing with Dad’s papers?” he said.
Not to me.
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