summer evenings.
“How do you know that?”
The man removed his baseball cap and held it against his chest.
“Because I used to drive the ice cream truck there.”
I stared at him.
“The Maple Street route. Back in the eighties and nineties. I drove it for almost twenty years.”
He smiled faintly.
“You probably wouldn’t remember me. You were little.”
Then his eyes became wet.
“But I remember you.”
He looked at the strawberry shortcake bar Ellie was now holding.
“You always ordered that one.”
Something stirred in my
