Tuesday wasn’t done raining on my parade, or at least making me stop and consider whether a parade was an appropriate choice of entertainment in this day and age. Versus… I don’t know, gladiators skewering puppies.
My first thought when Roger called that evening was to wonder how time had gotten away from me. I’d intended to be home by dark, so I sat hunched over my files with a single desk lamp burning, squinting in denial.
My second thought was one of guilt. Despite all my concerns and good intentions, I hadn’t spoken to Roger since his father’s funeral.
“How are you doing?” I asked.
“Busy,” he said, in a typical Roger-avoids-emotion non-answer. “Things accumulated at the office the past couple of weeks. And I’m Dad’s executor, which I’m learning is a whole job of its own.”
“How’s D
