Every Night at Six Thirty, Bob Drove Away, Until His Other Wife Said My Name
A brass ornament hung from the corner of the front porch roof, catching the yellow light from the kitchen window as Bob turned off his car.
It was a set of four brass wind chimes, exactly like the set hanging on my own front porch back in Oakridge.
I stepped out into the cool evening air, pushed the car door shut until the latch clicked, and walked along the gravel shoulder toward the cottage.
The side door of the garage clicked closed as Bob went in, carrying his black lunch box and the silver gift box tied with blue ribbon.
I climbed the four wooden porch steps and stood in front of the dark green front door.
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