His voice was flat, the way it got when he was working to hold his temper.

“He stood in the kitchen for forty minutes.”

“They were likely just talking about the house,” I said.

Mark pulled his hands out of his pockets, touched the rim of the sink, and shoved them right back in.

“He didn’t park in the driveway, Dad.

He left his truck around the corner on Maple Street.”

“Rob’s always parked wherever he likes,” I said, but I kept my eyes on the grocery receipt lying on the Formica.

“He was standing right up close to her by the stove,” Mark said.