“Let me do the talking in there,” she whispered, still smiling for the last of the church ladies. “You’re emotional.”
I looked at her hand until she took it off me.
“No,” I said.
Her smile didn’t disappear. It just changed shape.
The ride into town was silent except for the windshield wipers and the old gospel station Linda always played when she wanted to look pious. I drove my own truck behind her Lexus, my duffel bag and tool box rattling in the bed, because some part of me already knew I wasn’t going back to that house for long.
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