“He’s been watching that tape like you asked him to.” “Good, good.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “That sweatshirt his?” “What gave it away?” “I know my daughter, and she doesn’t root for the Rangers.” I look down at my lap as I smile. “Fair point.” “Your mother used to steal my clothes.” His voice sounds a little thick, the way it always does when he talks about Mom. “That Harvard sweatshirt looked better on her, anyway.” “I remember that sweatshirt.”
