For Seven Years I Sent Forty Thousand Dollars Every January, Until Emma Finally Spoke
“You were just talking about his budget this morning,” she said.
“Now you’re bringing him a free delivery.”
“We had extra bread,” I said.
“It’ll go stale by Sunday anyway.”
It was the first time in forty years I had lied to my wife about store inventory.
The bread had come in on the morning truck.
Eleanor walked over and looked into the box.
She pointed at the bottom corner.
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