I feel for Ray. He’s so broken up by his wife’s memorial. I’d taken a liking to him immediately upon our meeting when I first started working at Shop Side a year ago. The two of us hit it off.
He’s not a fan of my long hair, but he likes me. The day we’d gone fishing had been a good day until he’d gone home and found Ellen had passed.
I wish there’s something I can do to help him. Unfortunately, the only thing that can help is the passage of time.
After he’s had time to grieve, I’ll ask him to another baseball game, or to fish at Simpson’s Creek. The reason I’m fond of him is because he reminds me of my old man and the stories I’d heard of my grandfather.
My old man is a born bullshitter, like Ray. My folks live in Ohio, so I don’t get to see them as much as I would like to. Dad took m
