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

“If you go to Donald at the bank or talk to Clara at the courthouse, you’ll wreck everything,” he said.

I opened the car door and put my handbag on the passenger seat.

“Bob, where did the forty-two thousand dollars go?” I asked.

He grabbed the chrome rim along the top of my door to stop me from closing it.

Rain dripped off his hair onto the collar of his white shirt.

“The flower shop was going under two years ago,” he said, his voice sinking low.

“Ruth needed forty-two thousand dollars to pay off the bank lien or they were going to padlock her doors,” he said.