Sore spot, yes. Carelessly bring it up, of course. Rip the band aid off; never peel. It might evolve it into an unpeel...able, banana.
"He was a good man." He'd said half in agreement as he as well placed his Americano in a cup holder, and half as a way to veer into a new, less obvious, yet most obvious, avenue with which to emphasize his incomprehensible dubiety. "A good man with a lot of money and a lot of power. When you're a good man with a lot of money and a lot of power, haters gunna hate. The doctors just said that they're investigating a little more. Or medical examiner, coroner, whatever they're called. I have no idea what it entails. My mother's dealing with it. She texted me and I just kind of ignored it. Not because I don't love my father, or that we used to butt heads, or that I don't care, it's just that I believe what's dead is dead. Like he did. We'll see if anything comes up."
The engine hummed gracefully to life, and they were off into the distant direction of Medieval times. It was such a long stretch of road, so secluded and past Knottsberry. He wondered why they put all the good attractions so far apart. Wouldn't them being congregated be best for all of the businesses? Yes, he thought these light, airy thoughts, to deflect the thoughts of people picking at the cadaver of his father for hints as to why he died.