“You could have warned me.”
“That I wasn’t bringing a woman I met four days ago?”
“That the car was this small.”
I looked back at the blue compact parked crookedly beside the mailbox.
“It transported me successfully.”
“Your father has concerns.”
My father appeared behind her.
“The rear visibility is terrible.”
“Hello, Dad.”
He stepped onto the porch and hugged me.
Dad’s hugs were usually efficient. Firm pressure, two pats, release.
This one lasted longer.
“Good flight?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Anyone follow you?”
“No.”
“Photographers?”
“No.”
“Suspicious vehicles?”
“I’m not in witness protection.”
He studied the rental car.
“You wouldn’t last long in that.”
Mom took the suitcase handle.
“I can carry it.”
“You flew all morning.”
“The suitcase flew too.”
“It can rest.”
She dragged it toward the stairs.
One wheel struck the first step.
Dad winced.
