“My husband has the rental agreement,” I told him.

“The primary card holder on this box isn’t a man,” Tom said.

He dropped the key into his navy blue shirt pocket and stepped back toward the main counter.

Whose name had David put down as the primary owner of that box?

The rattly heater in my old Buick knocked three times under the floor every time I stopped at a red light on the way home.

Sarah was sitting at my kitchen table when I came in through the back porch door.