A half hour later, Dana and I were sitting under the shade of the canopy at my camper when dad approached us on the Gator. It wasn’t even ten o’clock and already the humidity was so bad his shirt was wet with sweat. He looked exhausted. As he went to step off the cart, he nearly tripped and barely caught himself.
I moved to help him but he waived me off. “At least pull up a chair dad and take a load off. Can I get you a bottle of water?”
He slumped into the proffered seat but waived his hand again, this time to decline the water. Normally a quiet man that only rarely spoke, his face, lined from previous years of heavy smoking before he quit, was contorted with the question of whatever was on his mind.
I looked at him hard, “There’s something you want to ask me, isn’t there?”
He pursed
