None. Tank’s solid. Lines are good. Connections are good. Honestly, that pickup is in better shape than vehicles twenty years newer.”
I thanked him.
Then stood in my kitchen after the call ended.
If the truck was fine, there were only two possibilities left.
Either my memory was failing.
Or someone was taking my gas.
That was when I remembered Katie.
Katie is my granddaughter.
Twenty-four.
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My son’s daughter.
She lives about an hour away and calls me every Sunday whether I answer the first time or not.
She’s the person everyone hands their phones to during family dinners when something stops working.
A few months earlier, she had tried convincing me to install a driveway camera.
“They’re inexpensive now, Grandpa. You’ll get an alert if someone walks near the house.”
I had laughed.
“Who’s coming here? Nobody wants anything I have.”
Now I called her.
“Grandpa?”
She
