Glancing at Mollie, I wonder if she’s losing any sleep over her daddy passing. Looks rested enough. Then again, she didn’t see it happen. She didn’t miss the signs the way I did. Garrett complaining about shooting pains in his arm that week. How he’d kept a hand on his chest that morning, clearly hurting. He blamed it on heartburn, saying he’d overindulged in Patsy’s ribs and jalapeño cornbread the night before. She wasn’t here to see him collapse inside a working pen, calves streaming around his lifeless body like he was a boulder parting a river.
