I shrugged under the shroud of towels.
She pulled over to the curb near the lawn. Nudged the selector into Park. She had a tender look on her face.
“Did you have any trouble in the army?” he said.
“Seven years ago,” I said. “Our mother’s funeral.”
“I think you should find out who it was killed him,” she said.
“Should I go to work today?” Roscoe asked.