Oil Man Blues

“How much is left?” Ken asked, looking up from his newspaper, as if the question were a causal one. “About an eighth,” said Vicki. Her forehead wrinkled as she peered out the window at the swirling snow. “We’re going to have to call.” Ken sighed, setting the paper down. “I guess we can skip paying the electric this month. Cut back on groceries.” Vicki pulled the collar of her wool sweater around her neck. “We skipped electric in December. We’re still behind.” “Just order 100 gallons,” said Ken. “That’ll last a couple of weeks. We’ll figure it out.” Ken stood up from his chair and crossed the room to put his arms around his wife, who still stared out the window. A thin crust of ice had begun to form along the edges of the glass. “I’ll call the oil man,” said Vicki. “No, I will,” Ken said. “Let me.”