Tables Turned
THE paving block on the sidewalk had shifted. Someone had parked here, on the sidewalk under the tree. And he, Andy, hadn’t been home.
He reconnoitres the front yard. The plastic grocery bag clangs against the steel fence. He forgot he was carrying the groceries. He better get inside.
Joan, his wife of 17 years, is busy in the kitchen with her specialty, butter chicken. When he’d tasted it for the first time, he knew he’d do anything for it. You could say it brought them together.
He thinks of Adam, her boyfriend back then, and also his best friend. He has no regrets. He’d do it again to have Joan and Anne.
“Did you notice any cars out front?” Andy asks.
“Well hello to you, darling,” says Joan. She walks closer and they
