Softer even than the beaver and otter her father trapped along the river. She wished she could pet Little Tom. Even after he became Old Tom, he still ...ould sit in her lap every evening, calming her with his rumbling purr. She knew Old Tom was gone, long gone, but Bill wasn’t. She wished she knew why he never visited her. He used to visit . . . every Sunday . . . and he couldn’t keep his eyes, or his hands, off her. The day he gave her the kitten was the day she knew she was in love with him and. “Dad, someone to talk with you.”Papa rolled himself out from under the Chevy on what I learned was called a Creeper. Detecting is educational. Lying there, stained coveralls, stained rag, stained hands. Squinted up at me, “Help you?”I moved to the other side so he wouldn’t be looking into the sun. And so he could check my mileage out. “Just asking about a friend of my Dad’s, Jim Woolsey?”He sat up, then stood up, groaning, arching his back. About 50, short dark hair, “I need a break, let’s get. More

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