Henry was shaking his head. “Terrible.”

“All’s good with you?” I asked.

“Actually I have to go out shortly, and I was going to ask you to move your vehicle so I can get my marketing done.”

She held up her car keys. “I’m on it, champ.”

He turned to me. “I wonder if I might have a word with you? It won’t take two shakes.”

Ruthie picked up her overnight bag. “I’ll go on over in my car, and you can follow in yours when it suits.”

“You’re okay going in the house on your own?”

She waved away the idea. “If I get nervous, I’ll wait for you on the back porch.”

Once she pulled out, Henry held up a handwritten list. “This may not work if you’re going to be at Ruthie’s for any length of time. I told Edna I’d take her to the market, but Joseph’s not feeling well and since she only needs a few items, I said I’d do her shopping along with mine. The problem is I have a plumber coming this morning between ten and noon and I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. I was wondering if you could be here when the guy arrives. If I’m not back, you can show him around. I’ve already told him what I need, but you may have to answer questions about hose bibs or sprinkler heads.”

“Sure. I’ll make a point of being back by nine forty-five and I’ll hang out until you get home.”

• • •

Ruthie had pulled her car into her garage while I parked mine along the rear property line. I retrieved a flashlight from the glove compartment, locked the car, and followed the back walk to the porch, doing a cursory visual survey in the unrelenting morning light. The house probably dated back to the early 1900s; a story and a half of wood frame, bereft of the usual gingerbread trim that might have lent it some character. The structure was serviceable, incorporating all of the relevant elements, minus style, personality, and appeal. I tapped at the door and she let me in.

Aside from my brief visit the night before, I hadn’t been in the house in months, and I was struck by its shabbiness. Pete hadn’t been blessed with handyman talents, so if something needed repairing, either Ruthie took care of it or it was left in its funky state. Pete had also been averse to hiring outside help because his pride prevented his admitting that even the simplest job was beyond his poor skills. To spare him, Ruthie had learned to make do. Drawer handles were missing. In the kitchen window, cracked wood putty had pulled away from the glass and short sections were gone. The vinyl tile flooring in the kitchen had buckled in places, as though water had seeped in and loosened the underlying mastic. Now that Ruthie was alone, what difference did it make? Pete’s clutter was gone, so the house was tidier. She’d also removed the stained and threadbare area rugs in the downstairs hall and waxed the pale hardwood floors to a high shine.