Every Night at Six Thirty, Bob Drove Away, Until His Other Wife Said My Name

“He told me he was going to see his Uncle John in Canton,” I said.

“John moved into the Canton care home four years ago,” Ruth said.

“Bob visits him once a year, at Christmas,” she went on.

“He came here every night at seven o’clock to have supper with me,” Ruth said.

Bob shifted from one foot to the other on the braided rug, his eyes glued to the floorboards.

“Did you ever register our marriage at the county courthouse seven years ago, Bob?” I asked.

Bob put his thumb against his brass key ring.