He left the cubicle. I watched line one blink red until he picked up the call from a nearby phone. On the wall across from me, his sales manuals were lined up on a built-in credenza. In a prominent position, there was a color photograph of a bride and groom on what I assumed was their wedding day. I crossed and picked up the framed photo for closer scrutiny. Winston must have been in his midtwenties, slim, handsome, curly-haired, and boyish, his tuxedo contributing an air of casual elegance. At his side, a hefty Kathy Cramer was squeezed into a wedding dress so tight it must have hurt to breathe. Above the sweetheart neckline, her breasts were plumped like two homemade yeast rolls that had risen and were ready to pop in the oven. In the years since that day, the two had reversed roles. Now she was trim, an exercise addict, while he’d apparently surrendered all hope of getting into shape. What was up with that? I kept thinking about Tannie’s offhand remark, that Winston knew more about Violet than he’d admitted.

I replaced the photo and took my seat again mere moments before he returned, murmuring, “Sorry about that.” He sat down again, but something in his manner had shifted. “My wife,” he said, by way of explanation. “She called while I was with a customer and I had to put her off. Don’t want to do that twice.”

“No problem. I had a chat with her earlier and she showed me the house. Nice place.”

“Should be for the price we paid,” he said with a quick forced smile.

“You play golf?”

He shook his head. “She’s the golfer. I keep my nose to the grindstone. If you notice me limp, it’s from dragging my ball and chain.” He laughed when he said it and I smiled in response, thinking, Ding, ding, ding, ding.

I said, “I could never see the point of golf myself. Chasing a ball and then hitting it with a stick? Though now that I think about it, that describes a lot of sports. What about your daughters? Are they golfers?”

“Amber was taking lessons before she left for Spain, but we’ll see where that goes. She’s easily bored so she’ll doubtless move on to something else. Brittany’s not athletic by any stretch. I’m sure Kathy’d tell you that she takes after me.”

“I understand Tiffany’s getting married in June.”

“Ka-ching, ka-ching, ” he said, pretending to punch up sales on a cash register. “You know how much weddings cost these days?”

“Not a clue.”

“Me, neither. Kathy keeps me in the dark so I can’t object. I’m sure it’s something close to the national debt.”

We both laughed at that, though the observation didn’t seem at all funny to me. Clearly Winston and his wife weren’t operating off the same page.