She watched him swirl that rag over the rutted oak floor and couldn’t help but think of how those same wonderful hands had comforted their children and changed as many, if not more, of their diapers as hers had. Those hands had also spoon-fed her father—three times a day, every day—for the last weeks of her father’s life, when he was too frail to lift a spoon and too proud to allow Clarice or her mother to feed him. That Richmond, the kind and selfless one, was the only Richmond she had seen for two years. But the other Richmond, the one who lied and cheated, had reappeared, and no number of
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