I recognized the Jaguar parked outside my saltbox and sighed, shaking my head. Ben sat behind its wheel, playing on his cellphone, waiting for me to come home from WRDR. I walked up to his Jag.
Ben exited his bullet, tipping his head at me as we made eye contact with each other.
Of course, it was still snowing. When in Radar hadn’t it snowed in March, particularly around the middle of the month? Spring would not surface for weeks, so the cold and icy temperatures, along with a string of snowstorms that whisked down from Canada, became accepted, a norm for the lakeside community.
I noticed that Ben wasn’t wearing a hat, and his ginger-colored hair was already accessorized with snowflakes. He pushed his hands into a pair of black gloves that matched his wool coat and leather shoes. Then h
