“The front tires on her car are worn right down to the wear bars, Jodi.

I’m not having my daughter driving around on bald rubber when it gets cold.”

Inside my pocket, I rubbed my thumb along the side of my index finger.

He hadn’t talked to me in this calm, reasonable voice since before Thanksgiving.

“What do you want for them?” I asked.

Rory dragged a third tire toward the tailgate and set it down on the gravel with a slow breath.

“I’m not selling them to you.