I had just enough time to stop at the liquor store and make it to Joshua’s on time. When I pulled in next to his car in the double-wide driveway, I had to grin at the sheer perfection of his little house. I knew he owned it and took great pride in its appearance; he’d told me about all the landscaping he wanted to do as soon as the weather warmed up. It was painted a cheery light blue with white shutters adorning the windows. The front door was a light colored wood—oak maybe—and had an autumn wreath hung over the knocker. I left the overnight bag sitting on the backseat, picked up the bottle of my favorite Pinot Grigio, and, with a bounce in my step, walked up the flagstone path to his door.
My knock was answered immediately by a haggard looking Joshua. I knew he was still putting in long
