Mitch brought the truck to a stop with a grunt, his wrists resting on the steering wheel. Of all the houses to be sent to for water-meter maintenance, why’d it have to be Marge’s? He’d tried to pass it off on Ralph, but Ralph had found great enjoyment in refusing. “I think she’d rather see your ugly mug at her door than mine,” he’d said.

Mitch dragged himself from the truck and carried a bucket, toolbox, and replacement parts to the door.

Marge flung it open before he could knock. “Hi, there.”

It’d been a while since he’d seen her without a big old smile on. She didn’t seem as happy to have him standing at her door as she always was to be standing at his.

He nodded. “Howdy. Sorry to have to bother you like this, but it should only take me a few minutes to get your meter back on track.”

“It’s no bother.” She stepped aside and ushered him in. “I’m just glad I didn’t get called in to work today.”

He caught a whiff of citrus as he passed her. Caroline never wore perfume, but she’d always smelled of vanilla from her shampoo. Vanilla made him think of home. Marge’s scent made him think of sunshine.

She fidgeted as he glanced around the house, trying not to gawk. He hadn’t been in here in a long time. It looked like nothing had changed since Bill and the kids left, almost as though the whole place were frozen in time, waiting for them to come back.

Like he could talk. Caroline’s Bible, glasses, and favorite lotion were still perched on the nightstand next to her side of the bed. Her lotion was vanilla, too. His eyes fell on a grimy pack of Newport cigarettes, and he grunted. He could practically see Bill’s fingerprints on it.

Marge’s long shiny earrings jangled as she shifted on her feet. “I keep meaning to throw those away, you know? I just . . .”

“Yeah.” He knew. They locked eyes for a second—a moment spanning the distance between them, a moment where he could see pieces of Marge in her eyes that he’d never seen before—then he cleared his throat. “Why don’t you show me where the line comes in.”

The moment passed.

She led Mitch down to the basement and pointed. “It’s right over here.”

He nodded and got straight to work, hoping to make his visit as short as possible. Being here alone with Marge gave him a peculiar feeling. Not bad necessarily, but different.

Most people left him to take care of business after showing him to the meter. Not Marge. She pulled a chair over, sat down, and crossed her short little legs. “Only four days until your birthday, can you believe it?”