***
Caroline arrived at one o’clock, her car keys tapping against her palm as she walked through the front door.
She carried a metal tin of lemon cookies, setting them on the dining table next to the silver coffee pot I had moved there earlier.
“You look like you haven’t slept since Tuesday,” Caroline said, her rapid words filling the empty dining room.
“I slept fine,” I said, smoothing the lace tablecloth with both hands.
“Richard’s car was still in the driveway when I pulled up,” she said, leaning closer and lowering her voice. “Why isn’t he at the office?”
“He has a lot of work at home lately,” I said. “He is under a great deal of stress with the new accounts.”
Caroline tapped her keys on the dark wood of the table, the metallic click rhythmic and sharp.
“He has been under stress for twenty-three years, Mary,” she said. “That does not explain why he looks at you like you are a tenant he wants to evict.”
