Someone down the block was mowing too early for a Sunday.
The world had no manners. It kept going even when your heart was embarrassed.
“Sorry for what?” I asked.
He flinched.
Good.
“Claire had no right to talk to you like that,” he said. “You didn’t deserve it.”
“No,” I said. “I didn’t.”
He looked down.
That silence told me more than another apology would have.
Everett was a good man.