Harold shook his head and retreated to the driver’s seat. Turning out of the parking lot, he imagined Eloise standing at her stove, spatula poised, waiting for her morning peaches. Excuses for the time began forming in Harold’s head. He drove to the closest grocery store and quickly threw two peaches in a paper bag. Three minutes carried him back to his neighborhood. He pulled carefully back into the parking spot, and after a quick glance around, he bounded out of the car.
Harold closed his wooden front door behind him. Eloise had demanded air conditioning a few years ago, and he was paying too much to let it out into the Floridian heat. He reached down to pet Lemon, then walked into the kitchen, peach bag in hand, preparing for a verbal assault.
“And what took you so long?” Eloise glanced over the edge of her coffee cup. She had just finished the first crossword puzzle from the newspaper, and was about the start the second.
Harold settled into a chair at the table. “Oh, traffic was terrible, and uh, the, um, peach shipment for today was late, I had to, to wait for them to get stocked.” At that moment, a siren started ringing, getting louder and louder. Eloise walked to the front window and drew back the shade.
“Look at that commotion,” she pointed across the street where two police cars had parked outside their neighbor’s house. An old woman stood frantically pointing and yelling at the officers. “Seems like something happened to that fancy car of hers.”
Harold took a bite of his peach and let the juice dribble down his chin, “Yes, dear.”
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