He stepped out of the driver’s seat, tapping his car keys against his thigh with a quick, rhythmic click that made me tighten my grip on my sweater.
“Let me get those heavy bags out of the trunk for you, Clara,” Arthur said, his smile wide and stationary as he walked toward me.
“I can manage the small grocery bags, Arthur,” I said, my voice steady and slow.
“Nonsense, that is what I am here for, to make things easy for you,” he said, reaching into the passenger side first to retrieve his leather gloves.
I reached into the passenger side from the other door to grab my small canvas grocery tote bag from the front seat.
The glove box had popped open an inch, revealing a thick white envelope inside with a blue logo.
The return address on the corner was printed in navy blue ink from the Oak Creek Commercial Bank.
Arthur lunged forward slightly, his arm brushing my shoulder as he snapped the glove box door shut with a sharp plastic latch sound.
“Just some business clutter from the office,” he said, his keys clicking faster against his leg.
