Pacing was out of the question. Instead, as Randy watched Vaughn hook up what turned out to be a blade on the front of his pickup, then watched Vaughn make a few sloppy passes so he could get free of the driveway, Randy wrung his hands. He hated himself for doing it. It made him feel like a weak, simpering old man, incapable of anything else.
But at least it was something he could do physically. Mentally, he was a wreck. He couldn’t decide what would have the worst outcome: telling Vaughn about the incident with Lyle, or not saying anything at all. The last thing he wanted to do was get Lyle in serious s**t, but he wasn’t an i***t, either. If a person went around ignoring caution signs, eventually they were going to end up slipping on a wet floor, and Lyle’s letter had gone way beyond cau
