I was hunting around the cupboard for Tommy’s favorite Koozie – the one with the foam boobies on it that he’d gotten at South of the Border – when the doorbell rang.
I froze, beer in one hand, booby Koozie in the other.
“Babe, can you get that?” Tommy called. “I just sat my ass down.”
“Sure.” I hurried from the kitchen and across the living room, my heart roosting in my throat like a big, overstuffed hen.
Through the peephole I saw the lawnmower man, shirtless and slick with rain.