She found him in the living room in his recliner watching Wheel of Fortune—a double-barrel shotgun lay across his lap. Ever since he was wounded in an attempted robbery years ago, the gun was never far from him. Faithful as always, Ollie, his black-and-white border collie, lay by the chair, also watching the TV as if he understood every word. “Hey, girl, what’re you doing home so early?” “I wanted to check on you and make sure you had supper.” Her father’s fall about six years ago had injured an already bad hip. Now it was stiff and cumbersome and he walked with a cane. He was the only family she had. She didn’t even remember her mother, who’d died when she was small. Her grandmother helped raise her, but her father was always in charge. No matter what, she would be here for him like he’d been there for her. “I had a bowl of soup. I’m not too hungry.” “Dad, you have to eat.” She worried about him. He’d gotten so thin in the past few years and it took effort to get him moving around.
