The young man shook it.
“Could you do me one favor before you make anything final?” Dad asked.
“If I’m allowed to.”
“Come back Saturday.”
The inspector waited.
“Six in the morning.”
He looked at me.
I shrugged.
I had no idea what Dad was planning either.
Every Friday since Mom died, Dad’s pickup had been gone before daylight.
I always assumed he couldn’t sleep and went driving.
I never asked.
Saturday morning arrived cold and foggy.
At five minutes before six, the county inspector parked along the road.
Brent was already standing on his new deck wearing a robe with a mug in his hand.
Dad was in the garden carrying his old bucket.
Just another morning to him.
Then, exactly at six, headlights appeared through the fog.
One pickup came down the road.
Then another.
Then a car.
Then four more vehicles behind them.
They parked one after another along the ditch.
