“Hey, kid, how you doing?” He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over a worn plaid shirt, distressed with age. Even from across the room I can catch the smell of leather, as though he just came in from treating saddles in the barn. It’s the way he’s always smelled, ever since I was a little kid following him around during chores. Thinking of it now makes me feel like I’m in danger of crying, so I clear my throat and try for another smile.
