“Did you get that exhaust valve checked on your truck?” Arthur asked.

“Not yet,” I said.

Arthur set his fork down flat on the edge of his plate.

His knuckles tapped twice against the dark oak beside his napkin.

“You’re still driving that thing?” Arthur asked.

“It starts,” I said.

“It sounds like a threshing machine coming up my driveway,” Arthur said.

“You have two hundred thousand miles on that odometer.