Man, had I screwed up. I spent Tuesday trying to figure out how to make things right with Walt. By Wednesday evening after dinner, I was still out of ideas.
I helped Mom prepare the turkeys—two of them—and we decided on which pies we’d have for dessert. She gave me arch looks from time to time and ventured a question or two, but I had nothing to say.
Walt was courteous to me whenever we crossed paths, and Casey was adorable. Beyond that, he made no overtures or pushed any agenda. And I had no idea what to do. And did I really want to? I’d spent five years hating the man, calling him names, calling him a coward, when in reality, perhaps I was the coward.
That night, I walked the farm, huddled in my jacket, and looked up at the stars. It was clear out, and it would be a nice day for Thank
