“I am,” I said. And then, for no reason at all: “I miss my dad.”
It had been fourteen months since my father passed. Lung cancer, quick at the end, which everyone told me was a blessing. I don’t feel very blessed when I see a Ford F-150 that matches his. I don’t feel blessed when I reach for the phone to tell him a stupid joke about my boss.
The crisp, autumn air bit at Thomas's cheeks as he pulled up to the curb. He killed the engine, but his fingers remained locked around the steering wheel of his battered blue sedan.