Every Night at Six Thirty, Bob Drove Away, Until His Other Wife Said My Name
“You can’t come with me, Penelope,” Bob said, all the cheer draining out of his voice into a sharp, flat line.
“It’s only four blocks,” I said, taking a small step toward the back door.
“I’ll wait in the passenger seat while you look at his plumbing and drop off the food.”
Bob yanked his key ring off the wooden peg, clutching the brass ring hard between his thumbs while his knuckles went pale.
“He’s a proud old man, Penelope, and he doesn’t want anybody seeing him like this,” Bob said, backing toward the latch of the back door.
“I’m his family too, Bob,” I said, keeping my voice calm and even.
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