STARR’S STARTED ASKING HER DAD QUESTIONS again – where are we eating dinner, how far is it? What kind of food will they have? It started before we left the hotel. They have some code worked out where he’ll answer only a certain number of questions per half-hour. Something like five, but I’ve been keeping count. He’s let her get up to ten. Each time she asks, he has her look at her phone to see if it’s time for her next quota. It’s a bit uncomfortable, like I’m witnessing a child being disciplined. But she doesn’t seem to mind and there’s no tone of disapproval in Henry’s voice.
We’ve been driving around for a while trying to find something other than the usual grease chains. Maybe it’s because, except for New York last summer, I’ve never been farther than Collingwood or Niagara Falls, but
