How a Fourteen-Dollar Yellow Baby Blanket Brought Down a Regional Director
“My prenatal appointment is at nine tomorrow morning.”
“You don’t have an appointment tomorrow,” David whispered.
“You have a loan closing at five past eight, and you’re going to sit in that dining room chair until you decide to act like a sensible wife.”
“Where are the keys to my Buick?” I asked.
“In my pocket,” he said.
“Right next to the fifty-dollar cash allowance I gave you yesterday morning.”
He spun on his heel and walked down the carpeted hallway toward the master bedroom, his dark shoes sinking silently into the pile.
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