Kendra walks down her front steps, backpack in hand, legs on display. All that skin flashing in the beam of my headlights. By the time I put the truck in park, she’s already opening the passenger door. Instead of chastising her, I reach across, take the backpack from her hands, and set it on the back seat. She climbs into the seat in silence. And I look. I look at her shiny hair, hanging down to her shoulders. I look at the cardigan that can’t hide her nipples. I look at her lap.
