Ross applied the brakes and used his turn signal before turning into the narrow driveway of his mother’s house. It was a small, wooden structure painted in a dark sea blue with white shutters. The house wasn’t much, but it was in good shape for its age.
He shifted the truck into park and turned off the ignition. Sitting in the dark, he lit up another cigarette. His mom hated that he smoked so much, and out of respect for her, he never did so in front of her. He inhaled a deep breath, letting the addictive nicotine fill his lungs, and looked at the house with a critical eye.
The right shutter was drooping again. He needed to replace the hinge and make sure the wood wasn’t rotting. He’d just finished painting the damn place three months ago. There was always something that needed to be rep
