Arthur set his glass down, his heavy gold signet ring making a sharp metallic clink on the wood.

“What about the driveway, Chelsea?”

“Well, Iris parked right behind me,” Chelsea said, laughing as she reached for a piece of garlic bread.

“That silver Toyota looks like a scrapyard trade-in sitting next to my fresh white paint.

It ruins the whole look.”

Arthur nodded slowly, his eyes moving across the table to where I sat with my soup spoon frozen in my hand.

“She has a point, Iris.