My Brother Said One Sentence in the Bank Lobby

Ronald Hatch.”

I knew that name. Ron Hatch was my father’s poker buddy. Big stomach. Bad knees. Always smelled like cigar smoke even when he hadn’t smoked yet.

“He died last year,” I said.

“Yes,” Elena said. “This document is dated last Tuesday.”

I got into my truck and sat there with the door open.

Rain tapped the driveway.

Last Tuesday, Lucy had been crying continue reading …