The key stamped W-14 had been taken off the loop, leaving only his store keys and his car key dangling from the brass ring.

I laid the ring in his open palm.

“There, you’ve got your keys back, Bob,” I said, in my calm high school registrar’s voice.

“Penelope, please,” Bob said, his voice falling low.

“We can work this out without the county stripping away my shares in the hardware store.”

“The hearing’s over,” I said.

I stepped around his left shoulder without waiting for an answer.

Clara stood waiting by the courthouse’s front glass doors, holding the heavy bronze handle open for me.