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

“He handed his store master keys over to the board at noon today,” Miller said quietly.

“He signed his exit papers and walked out of the building before lunch.”

“Thanks for taking care of it, Miller,” I said.

Clara laid her hand gently on my shoulder.

“We can head on home now, Penelope.”

“Thank you, Miller,” I said again, giving him a calm, steady nod.

I turned and walked down the center aisle to the front exit, past the paint displays and the tool racks, without stopping or looking back at what used to be Bob’s office.

By six that evening I was home by myself in the sunroom.