Every Night at Six Thirty, Bob Drove Away, Until His Other Wife Said My Name
We went down the wide stone steps side by side, the cool spring air settling over the street as the noon bells started to ring.
The courtroom emptied out within five minutes of the final ruling, but I drove straight down to Canton before going back to Oakridge.
Uncle John was sitting on a green bench in the care home garden with a thick wool blanket over his knees.
I took a heavy dark blue cardigan out of my tote bag and laid it gently around his shoulders.
“The hearing in Room 204 wrapped up an hour ago,” I said.
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