I left him staring out the window toward the barn where the tractor stood.
The gravel in the clinic parking lot crunched under my boots as the late afternoon light turned a dusty amber.
I opened the passenger side door of my sedan and quickly stuffed the three orange past due envelopes from the hospital into the glove compartment, sliding them under the vehicle title.
The glove compartment door did not latch on the first try, requiring a hard slap of my palm to secure it.
“Clara,” a voice called from behind the green dumpster.
My aunt Diane walked toward me, her silver charm bracelet clinking with every step she took.
She stopped three feet from my door, her hands buried deep in her wool coat pockets.
“You are going to take him down with you, aren’t you?” she asked.
“We are going to the ocean, Diane,” I said, leaning against the warm metal of the car door. “Sophie wants to see the water.”
“And who is paying for the gas and the rooms while you are gone?” she asked, twisting the silver charms around her wrist. “Do you think his pension stretches that far?”
I did not answer her, turning to key the ignition instead.
