I left the unsigned refinance envelope on the dining table, took my coat off the front hall peg, and went out to my Buick before Bob had reached the end of our street.

My car caught on the first turn of the key, and I backed out into the lane with my headlights off until I’d passed the Oakridge high school athletic field.

Bob swung his red sedan south onto Route 14 at six o’clock exactly.

The two-lane highway was mostly empty, with just a few milk trucks heading back from the county creamery and a tractor pulling a flatbed loaded with timber.

I stayed four car lengths back, holding at fifty-five miles an hour so his rearview mirror would show nothing but two small yellow lights in the dusk.