gravel driveway, where the yellow yard light cast long shadows toward the seed shed.
Mason slid down from his chair and pushed his empty milk glass across the counter toward the sink basin. “Is Travis going to sit in the bleachers on Thursday night?”
“We will figure out Thursday when Thursday gets here,” I said, wiping a spot of grease off the yellow plastic placemat with a damp cloth.
Kaylee rinsed her plate under the steaming water, set it into the rubber drying rack, and wiped her hands on the tea towel hanging from the stove door handle. She turned around and walked straight down the hallway to her bedroom without another word.
At quarter past six, I pulled my heavy denim coat off the hall peg and stepped out onto the back porch steps. The evening air was sharp and cold, smelling of cut corn silage and damp earth
