It did. Those people must have a lot of money. They don’t. Not anymore. Look closer and see that the skylights leak. Dried puddles stain the ceiling. The fenders are dented, the paint is peeling, the curtains have shattered from the heat of the sun. A crack sneaks relentlessly across the windshield. Eventually it will have to be replaced. The tires are my big concern right now. The tread’s almost gone. That’s dangerous; if they blow out, you can lose control. So many cars have lousy tires. I notice tires everywhere we go, in gas stations, parking lots, truck stops. Yesterday I showed Daddy the right rear radial, where the steel belt’s poking through the rubber. He frowned. “It’s just that one tire. The others are fine.” “No they’re not. Take a look.” He didn’t want to look. “There are thousands of miles left on those tires, Mary. I’ll get the back one patched.” “They won’t patch it. It’s shot.” “Since when did you become an expert on tires?” Since two years ago, when I started changing them.
