BUTCH WAS ENDLESSLY patient as we worked through my long list of responsibilities. He didn’t, however, put the top up on his convertible despite the cold wind that made me snuggle deeper into my sweater. So maybe that explained the gloves?
I had enough oddities of my own that I chose not to remark upon Butch’s. And within a few hours, thoughts of his affinity for gloves faded into the background.
What didn’t fade into the background was Nick, immediately apparent as we pulled into the visitor lot at Highlands. My stepfather sat on the stone wall outside Harper’s dormitory, l*****g ice cream out of a triple-decker ice-cream cone as if he was a kid and this was summer instead of nearly the end of October.
I must have breathed funny at the sight because Butch asked, “Someone you know?” He
