I had a big breakfast with Marco on Christmas morning, our personal family tradition where we exchanged gifts and teased each other, reminiscing about what our parents had done on other Christmases as we had pancakes, bacon, sausage, and hash browns. I left him to clean up since I had to be at work by nine that morning, and the roads were dangerous. I usually tried to have that day off every year, but it didn’t always happen, and the boss liked to catch whatever business might be around when other garages were closed for the holiday.
Marco had been happy with the gifts I’d given him—a tablet and gift card to his favorite clothing store—but he’d been otherwise subdued, which surprised me. I’d expected him to give me hell about Wayne and fixing things between us, but he hadn’t said anything
