He’d lost his wedding ring. Strangest thing. He’d taken it off while he worked in his shop—he’d put it right in the dish on the window sill, the clay dish she had picked up for him at a garage sale the summer they’d moved into this house with the garage where he could have a shop.

The dish was ugly, painted yellow with red and green shapes that were roughly square or triangular. Probably a school art project. He’d complained that she’d picked out something so ugly; she’d replied that it was for his shop, so who really cared?