Raymond stopped twisting his cap and looked up, his brow furrowed with immediate concern. “That is a long walk for your knees, Mom. You shouldn’t be walking that far alone in this damp air.”
“The movement will do me good,” Helen said, rising slowly to wash the white ceramic mugs in the sink.
“I could drive you,” Raymond offered, his eyes tracking her slow movements across the linoleum. “The truck is running fine enough, even if the driver is flat broke.”
“No, thank you, Raymond,” Helen said softly, drying her hands on a checkered towel. “You have work to do on the north pasture, and I want to clear my head.”
By eleven o’clock, she stood on the front porch with a small canvas tote bag containing her house keys and a clean handkerchief.
Raymond reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy object, the tarnished silver catching the high morning light. He held out his silver-plated pocket watch, the one their father had given him on his eighteenth birthday.
