Finally, she lowered her window.
« Sorry, » she said. « Is that Evan? »
My hand froze around the gas nozzle.
« Yes. He’s my husband. »
The woman’s entire expression changed.
« You said he’s your husband? »
« Yes. »
She stared at the photograph again.
Then back at me.
« Then why does he keep telling everyone at my gym that his wife died? »