As Quinn drove counterclockwise on Main, turning toward the Western shop, the old PO, and laundromat, he spotted Luther Varner raising the flags by the town gazebo. He was there every morning at nine a.m. to make sure all was clear and orderly by the veterans’ memorial. And he was also there at sundown to lower the flags and return them to Lipscomb’s Drugstore, where he was rewarded twice a day with a free cup of coffee at their antique soda fountain.

“Rain’s headed this way later on,” Quinn said, walking down the path toward the memorial.

“A real shitstorm from what I seen on the TV,” Mr. Varner said. He and Quinn shook hands and he returned to securing the ropes on the pole.

“You heard from Donnie?”

“Not since last week,” Luther said. “You know he quit that job driving a beer truck? Says your daddy got him some work with a film company shooting in Austin. Can you believe that?”

“Your son and my dad working together?” Quinn said. “Yep. Two of a damn kind.”

“Yes, sir,” Varner said. “God’s own truth.”

“Caddy seems happy,” Quinn said. “Jason likes his new school and he’s looking forward to spring football practice. Caddy’s already working for some nonprofit in the city.”

“Your sister ain’t one to keep idle,” Varner said.

Quinn and the old man followed one of the paths that spoked from the center of the Square toward the crosswalk to Lipscomb’s. The bell jingled as they stepped into the drugstore and emporium. Most of the store now filled with home accents and small gifts, purses and wallets, decorative rugs, fancy bathrobes with matching slippers, and all kinds of gift bags and candies for the Valentine’s Day season. Lots of the stuff decked out in glitter and fake jewels with words like faith, family, football.

Varner took a seat on a barstool, gesturing to Miss Vicki for two cups of coffee. Quinn figured he was drinking the dollar coffee on Varner’s tab this morning.

Mr. Varner was a tall, lumbering Marine who’d served long and hard in Vietnam. He’d been a sniper, and despite his age, had come out to assist Quinn on more than one occasion. Like Quinn, he kept his hair buzzed high and tight and dressed in crisp, ironed clothes each morning. His boots were spit polished and shined, as were his new black-framed glasses. His face leathery and weathered under the blocky silver crew cut.

Miss Vicki set down two steaming mugs. The men thanked her. Varner’s hand shook slightly as he took a sip. His fingers long and yellowed with nicotine.

“What’s your momma say about Caddy connecting with your daddy out there in Texas?”

“You know, she hasn’t even mentioned it.”

“Can you blame her?”

“No, sir,” Quinn said.

“Bet she’s got more to say about that new baby of y’all’s?”