CHAPTER SIXTEEN
At eight o’clock the next morning, I drove to my parents’ house to pick up the tables. Dad was in his striped pajamas and ratty flannel robe that Mom swore she would use to scrub the floors but never did. He slipped on some tennis shoes and helped me pick up the tables and carry them from the garage. We loaded them into the back of Velma. My mom was still in bed recovering from the night before.
“ I noticed you and Clint seemed to have something going on between you. Anything you want to share with your old man?” Dad hoisted the final table into the van and shut the door.
“ Not sure there is anything to share at this point,” I said. I leaned against the bumper.
“ Ophelia, I hate to tell you this, but you wear your heart on your sleeve for that boy. You always have
