She checked it, and her face softened.

“My granddaughter passed her driving test.”

She showed me a photograph of a smiling teenager holding car keys.

I looked at the picture and realized I hadn’t called Trevor just to ask about his life in days.

Every conversation had become Roger, the house, the divorce.

“Maybe I’ll go to Denver for Thanksgiving,” I said.

“Good.

And you’ll leave the accounting homework at home.”