The hose nozzle clicked, cutting the water to a thin, greasy trickle that pooled around the rear tire of the Ford F-250. Dennis did not turn around when my car door shut, though the gravel in our driveway always made a distinct grinding sound under the tires of my sedan. He kept his back to me, using a yellow sponge to scrub the chrome tailgate with slow, circular motions.
“You are home early,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar, booming cheer he used for the parents at the Little League fields.
I reached into my collar, my fingers instantly finding the cold, flat edge of my father’s silver dog tags. “The regional terminal cleared the weekly manifest by two. Why is your truck parked in the grass?”
Dennis finally turned, his hands dripping with grey suds. He shifted his weight from one work boot to the other, his thumb immediately finding his gold wedding band and rotating it twice. “Just giving the rig a quick rinse before the rain hits tonight.”
“Where is Meadow?” I asked.
“Upstairs,” he said, gesturing toward the house with the wet sponge. “She had a bit of a headache after lunch, so I told her to lie down. She is resting.”
I looked past him toward the dark kitchen window. The glass reflected the yellowing leaves of the oak trees, completely still in the October afternoon heat. “She was supposed to be safe at school, Dennis.”
“The school called about a mild tummy ache around noon,” he said, his smile remaining perfectly fixed. “I went and got her. No need to worry your head at work over a little bug.”
I nodded, but my hand tightened around the metal tags under my blouse. The school secretary, Clara, always called me first because my office was three miles closer than the construction yard. My phone had not vibrated once all day.
I pulled a folded piece of paper from my coat pocket. “I found this in the mailbox. A school fees invoice for three hundred dollars. It says it is past due.”
