“T.J. said. “If the bank teller gave him money, why wouldn’t he take it and run?” Mr. Stenson shrugged. “People who rob banks are not rational,” he said. “He’s probably on drugs.” Mrs. Stenson moved toward the kitchen. “Our dinner’s ready,” she said. “We’d better eat while it’s still hot. We’re having tacos.” Normally, tacos were T.J.’s favorite meal, but his appetite had disappeared. “Come and sit down, Mother,” Mrs. Stenson said. “It’s time to eat your dinner.” “I don’t want to be late for chu...rch,” Grandma Ruth said. Mr. Stenson patted her arm reassuringly and led her to her chair. “You won’t be late. You have plenty of time.” Grandma Ruth smiled at him and sat. She said, “Thank you, David.” David was Grandma Ruth’s brother, dead more than ten years. Mr. Stenson never corrected her when she called him David. He never corrected her when she called him Edward, either, apparently thinking he was her late husband. When that happened, Mr.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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