62The young receptionist waved me and Pat into attorney Isaac Nicholson’s elegant private office. She stepped back into the hallway.
The door closed with a decisive click.
Steve Truman sat in one of the three mahogany and leather captain’s chairs facing the massive mahogany desk.
He wore a camel blazer with a slim-fit white shirt and tapered khaki Dockers.
Steve has thick hair the same dark-brown shade that his dad was born with.
I noted that he cuts his less often. Today the strands were two inches longer than the military style Jeff favored.
Steve stood, flashing his dad’s familiar grin
He looked so much like Jeff, I felt tears prick my eyes.
I cut our hello-hug short to keep from blubbering on his shoulder.
Attorney Nicholson’s gentlemanly handshake helped me recover.
Less som
