Richard grimaced at the ear-splitting noise that had so rudely interrupted his news.
“Don’t touch that,” he said pointedly, quick to change it back. “Nobody wants to hear that racket.”
“It’s not racket, Dad, it’s music,” His son, Daniel, slunk down into his seat, crossed his arms, and put his feet on the glove compartment.
“Don’t do that!” He had had enough. “I swear, this so-called ‘music’ of yours has turned you into some kind…some kind of delinquent! I don’t want you listening to it, do you hear me?”
His son groaned, pushing back a piece of his unruly, light brown hair. It was her exact shade…
“Sure, whatever the dick-tator says,” Daniel muttered under his breath.
“What was that?” Richard cut a sharp, stern look his way.
“Why do we have to listen to the news anyway? Can’t we at least listen to some kind of music?” Daniel found that he strangely missed her old-fashioned songs.
“No, we can’t,” he replied, with nothing else to add.
They sat in silence for a moment before Daniel reached over to change it again. Richard slapped his hand away in a huff. He tried to turn it back to his news, but it was broken.
The car radio whirred through different stations in a cacophonous storm. He banged it at once, until Doris Day’s voice stopped him.
“Whatever will be, will be. The future’s not ours to see.”
“Hey, wasn’t this—?” Daniel asked, unable to finish.
“Yes, it was your mom’s favorite…”
