“You don’t know what he looks like when his pain flares up,” Bob said, his voice climbing as he felt behind him for the brass doorknob.

“If you can’t take my word about my own uncle after seven years, then we’ve got bigger problems in this house.”

“All I did was offer to help you carry the food,” I said.

“I don’t need help looking after my family,” Bob said, stepping out onto the back porch steps before the grandfather clock in the hall struck six thirty.

The heavy wooden door clicked into its frame, and a moment later his sedan’s engine turned over in the driveway.