18Tuesday morning, I wore new jeans.
Marina had ironed knife-sharp creases into the dark blue denim. Levi calls the color “indigo black.”
The snappy jeans make my short legs seem longer. I won’t appear stumpy standing next to my five-foot-ten-inch daughter.
I topped the jeans with a white scoop-neck T-shirt. Narrow horizontal lines of red and blue alternated down the front.
Dressed right for the Fourth of July.
Not that I felt like celebrating.
Six hundred miles south of me, Jeff lay inside a pull-out drawer in the county morgue.
His widow must be stunned by the sudden loss.
I imagined Karen reaching out to their two grown sons. The wives. The children.
Jeff had adored his four grandchildren. They’d miss grandpa.
In my mind’s eye, the Trumans struggled to console one another.
Je
