Allison Conover’s husband

… sweating butter, with five slices of bacon on the side, not too crisp. The sort of fare that had, in fact, landed him here in the first place. At least according to his doctor—the birdbrain. “The going’s bad outside,” Allison said shortly. Six patients had already told her they had about given up on her this morning, and the line was getting old. Allison was a pleasant girl, but this morning she was feeling harried. “Oh, sorry,” Mr. Starret said …

Allison Conover’s husband, whose four-wheel-drive vehicle she uses to reach work.