“I saw him parked at Yearly Cemetery.” Farmer Bill sighed. “He was talking to Abigail. He does that from time to time.” “He loved her.” Saying the words brought a dull ache. She leaned against the car. “Almost as much as he loves you.” Rebecca barked a laugh. “Used to, Bill.” “Not as used to as you might think.” “I doubt that.” “You’d have liked Abigail, and she would have liked you.”
