Dusk nears, burning blonde and rogue.
I see the town car throttle up the driveway. Exhaust puffs from the tailpipe and one rear wheel grinds over the final, faded blood stain.
In her croaky voice, Dolly says, “For some reason, it takes me a while to not hate it here. Three days. Sometimes four.” Her new forehead is pink and unmoving. She wears a cream-colored jacket. “It just seems … dreadful at first.”
dreadfulHerb replies in song, “Home again, home again, jiggity jig.”
“Philip!” she shouts to the driver. “Remember to leave our bags in the trunk. That way Alma doesn’t have to pack again. Everything was sent to the cleaners, I think.”
Philip nods and then Philip tugs on his tie.
“Let’s get this over with,” Dolly says. “This house is horrible, Herb.”
He pulls on his coat, opens her d
