sitting at a big table together.”
He smelled of mint chewing gum and fresh laundry soap instead of diesel fuel or cut silage.
“Did you double check the registration deadline for the floor walk?” I asked softly, testing him one last time.
Travis did not shift his jaw or drop his head. He just patted my shoulder twice and turned toward the back door.
“Everything is handled,” he said. “I am going to grab my heavy winter coat out of the truck before we load up.”
He walked down the three back porch steps into the cool air, leaving the screen door to latch behind him.
I stood in the mudroom for a moment, listening to the gentle rumble of the dryer tumbling Mason’s dress pants in the laundry corner.
Through the window screen, I saw Travis step up to the driver’s side of his blue Ford pickup parked along
