Gabriel was in the middle, and Daryl on the other side of him. The truck rocked, pitched, and rolled until it reached the firmness of asphalt. They’d spent pretty much all day in the fields and were bone-tired. But this visit was not an option. They’d headed out right after dinner. Gabriel looked out the window and said, “Mr. Sam, I think you were right about old Kurt. He moved on. Not hide nor hair of him.” Daryl glanced at his father but said nothing. Quarry said nothing either, just kept one hand on the wheel and stared dead ahead, the smoke curling off the end of his Winston. They pulled into the parking lot of the nursing home. As they climbed out Quarry snatched a cassette recorder off the dashboard, crushed his smoke out on the pavement, and they all headed in. As they moved down the hall, Quarry said, “Been a long time since you visited your sister, Daryl.” Daryl made a face. “Don’t like seeing her like that. Don’t want to remember her that way, Daddy.” “She didn’t have any choice about it.”
