Every Night at Six Thirty, Bob Drove Away, Until His Other Wife Said My Name

“My mother’s silver tea set is still in the dining room sideboard,” I said.

“He bolted the inner deadbolt from inside before he left for the hardware store,” Clara said.

“He told Mrs.

Gable you’d already packed up everything you own last night.”

I walked back down the gravel driveway with a suitcase in each hand.

“The spare room at my place is all made up,” Clara said.

“I put fresh sheets on the bed an hour ago.”

We loaded both suitcases into the trunk of Clara’s sedan.