“You don’t need to keep digging up the past, Clara,” Dean said, smiling down at me, wide and warm, as he put three yellow apples on the counter.

He put a glass jar of peach preserves on the yellow counter, right next to a loaf of white sandwich bread.

“Figured you ladies might want something sweet for breakfast,” Dean said, brushing his palms together and smiling broadly.

“That was nice of you, Dean,” I said.

My right thumb slid around the silver band on my ring finger, turning the smooth metal twice.

“I went by the bank yesterday to make sure the building fund was squared away,” he said, heading for the hallway door.