“You want a bag for that?”

“It’s for my son,” I said.

She bagged it.

“Okay.”

Two carts back, a woman was laughing into her phone about somebody’s wedding shower.

I paid four dollars and eighteen cents, carried the bag out, and set it on the passenger seat, and it rode all the way home beside me.

Richard came in at six twenty, set his briefcase by the coat rack, and straightened the wedding photo on the wall so the frame lined up with the light switch.

“Long day,” he said.