Bob came out of the back kitchen holding two glass tumblers of water, with the blue-ribboned gift box tucked under his right arm.

He stopped short in the middle of the braided rug, three feet from the couch.

The glass tumblers clinked together in his hands, the ice rattling against their sides.

“Penelope,” Bob said.

“Put those down on the tray, Bob,” Ruth said.

Bob set the tumblers on the sideboard beside the flower receipts, his knuckles going white against the polished cherry wood.

Ruth crossed to a little writing desk by the window, took a tiny key out of her apron pocket, and unlocked the top drawer.