He blinked.
“I’ll wait for Shelly,” I said. I picked up my license and put it back in my shirt pocket. “She’ll be back. I’ll cash it with her.”
I turned around and walked toward the door.
Kayla Brandt was still standing in line with little Wyatt on her hip. Her eyes were wide. Harvey Kessler was still standing at his desk. Tommy Ruiz was standing by the door, holding it open for me.
As I passed the old photograph, I stopped.
I reached up and straightened it. It had been crooked for years. It was crooked when George was alive. He always said he’d fix it someday.
There. Straight.
The young woman in the white dress smiled down at me.
I smiled back.
Then I walked out into the June heat in my dirty boots and George’s old hat and went home to finish the tomatoes.
