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

A dark blue sedan pulled into the driveway before Clara made it to the kitchen doorway.

Ruth got out of the car with a thick manila file folder under her arm.

She climbed the three wooden porch steps and stopped at the kitchen door.

“The municipal clerk in Westfall gave me these certified tax receipts,” Ruth said, laying the folder on the kitchen counter.

“Every dollar that came out of my flower shop account is listed on page four.”

I opened the manila folder and found thirty-six printed line items stamped by the county recorder.