of laminated game programs in her lap. “The senior parents are supposed to be lining up in the west hallway by six o’clock.”
“Duane is handling the floor tonight,” Travis said.
Carol blinked twice, her eyes sliding from Travis to me and then back to Travis. “Is Duane walking her? We thought you were her father.”
“Duane is her grandfather,” Travis said.
Pam leaned closer to Carol, whispering something under her breath as she smoothed the corner of a program with her thumb. She did not look back at Travis again.
Two rows above us, a retired grain elevator manager named Miller leaned forward and tapped Travis on the shoulder with his rolled-up newspaper.
“Hey Travis, did the tractor break down?” Miller asked with a short laugh. “I thought you were escorting the middle hitter tonight.”
Travis did not turn his head. “Duane is taking the walk.”
“Duane Ostrem?” Miller
