Roy looked beyond the man to the green car sitting at the curb, its metallic finish bright as a gemstone. He wanted to say: No, Roy doesn’t live here anymore. His palm went slick against the doorknob. “Yeah. I’m Roy.”
“I came about Caroline.”
“Caroline?” Roy spoke the name as if it were the first he’d heard it.
“I have some of her things,” the man said. “Maybe I could talk to her.”
“There’s no Caroline here.”
The man cocked his head, squinted. He wore short pants and loafers, a short-sleeved shirt made of shiny fabric, the top two buttons undone, and a gold chain and cross around a neck that sported a vein like a radiator hose. “When’s she back?”