me the farm and gave Wade an old truck. How am I supposed to drive over there and ask him to help?”
Butch considered that.
Then replied, “The same way he’d have to come asking you. Slowly, with your hat in your hands.”
That evening, Phil drove to my house.
I was outside servicing the feed truck when I heard tires crunching along our gravel driveway.
I turned.
It was Dad’s old blue pickup.
For half a second, seeing that truck approach in the evening sunlight made my heart jump.
