The sky was already turning the dark gray of wet slate.

My father’s dark green pickup truck blocked the left bay of the double garage.

Arthur came out the side door before I had even shut off the Toyota’s engine.

He wore his heavy canvas work coat, and his heavy gold signet ring caught the yellow porch light as he raised one hand to signal me to stop.

I stepped out into the damp chill and grabbed my shoulder bag from the passenger seat.

“You’ve got a dark scuff on the rear quarter panel, Iris,” Arthur said, walking right past my open door to point at the bumper with the toe of his work boot.