CHAPTER FOURLindsey’s telephone wouldn’t stop burbling at him until he rolled over and picked it up. Things were better when telephones just rang at you. Nowadays they sounded like lovesick pigeons serenading their chosen sweethearts.
The voice on the telephone was Ms. Wilbur’s. “Now that you don’t have to punch a clock any more, what time do you roll out, Hobart?”
He rubbed his eyes and blinked at the clock. He sniffed. Mother had the coffee started, anyway. His mind flashed on the cold coffee at the Robeson Center. The cups were probably still on the table.
“What’s the matter? Ms. Wilbur, aren’t you retired?”
“How does that saying go? This is the first day of the rest of my life. Sure I’m retired. How’s your own calendar, Hobart?”
He rubbed his head. The blood was starting to flow a
