Ask him.”

“Don’t put me in the middle of this,” Pete said, already backing toward the truck.

“I’ve got a load to run.”

I sat in the van with the engine off until the flatbed pulled out, its tailgate chains clanging on the gravel all the way to the road.

Diane had the screen door latched and the kettle on.

She unlatched it and stepped back so I could get past.

She poured two cups, set mine on a coaster, folded her hands in her lap, neat as a napkin, and waited, which is her way.