On Wednesday evening, I rang the doorbell and Gerry answered.
“Good evening, Shelby,” she said. “Mom’s upstairs but she said she’d be right down. Come into the living room. Randy will have your drink ready.” She led me into the living room.
I walked in and sat on the couch. Randy handed me a tequila gimlet. “How are you this evening, Ms. Flynn?” he asked.
“Stop that, Randy. Call me Shelby. Please.”
His face lit up. “Of course, Shelby. How are you?”
“Quite well. How is school going?”
“It’s going okay,” he hedged. The frown on his face said it wasn’t okay.
“Having a problem?” I asked.
He nodded. “I was having a little trouble in trig, but I think I may have solved it.”
“Yes. I had problems with trig, too, but once it clicks, you’re there,” I said, hoping to encourage him.
He nodded
