Joanne Brennan — The Husband Who Thought He Could Come Home
The one your dad gave me.”
I looked toward the garage.
The old clubs hung in a canvas bag beside the lawn mower.
I had avoided touching them because my father, who died ten years earlier, had restored their wooden handles himself.
“We can arrange a pickup with Trevor,” I said.
“He was my father-in-law too, Jo.”
“I know.”
After we hung up, I stood in the garage beside those clubs.
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