CHAPTER EIGHT TUCKER stared through the windshield of a powder blue Volkswagen Beetle, failing to be charmed by the fresh daisy in its little glass container. He’d been working. Despite the fact that he’d really just used it as a convenient excuse to avoid the neighbor’s shindig, he’d sat at his computer, and actually gotten in the groove. It had been… hell, months since he’d been able to maintain that kind of focus. Ever since his mom died, his thoughts bounced around like a pinball in a machine. It had scared him. He hadn’t been willing to admit that before. The fear, niggling but undeniably there, that he’d somehow lost that part of himself along with his mom. But for the past – hour? Two? Dusk had fallen, he realized, so it had to have been at least that. Anyway, for the past little while, he’d been cruising. Until he’d made the mistake of glancing out the window. And noticed that he must have forgotten to put up his LOT FULL sign.
