“The utility crew cut his phone line yesterday morning,” Bob said, stopping to brush a fleck of dust off the crystal of his wristwatch.

“They’re rewiring the main electrical junction box along Maple Street until late next Tuesday.”

“I could walk four blocks down the avenue on my lunch break and take him some clean towels for his bathroom,” I said.

“He doesn’t want anybody stopping by while the drywall work’s going on,” Bob said, shaking his head once.

He got up from his chair, crossed the linoleum, and kissed my cheek, his breath smelling of fresh peppermint toothpaste.

“You’re a very patient woman, Penelope,” he said, picking his black steel lunchbox up off the counter next to the toaster.