The cotton was soft from too many washes, and when I unfolded the shirt, a folded paper slipped out onto the kitchen floor.

It landed face up.

A mailer from Baldwin Logistics, postmarked six days ago, addressed to Lucas Gallagher at this house.

I picked it up and read it standing at the counter with my left hand resting on my stomach, the way I had started doing without noticing.

The letterhead was the old one, from before the merger.

It said the company was reviewing all vendor contracts, and it listed a name at the top.

Temporary managing trustee: Charles Baldwin.

My father. I read it three times.

The window over the sink was fogged at the corners, and the coffee I had poured at seven was still sitting there, cold, with a skin on it.

Lucas made sure every paper had a purpose.

That was the thing about him.

He filed receipts from the hardware store in envelopes labeled by month.

So why was my father’s name on this notice?

I hung the T-shirt over the back of the chair.

I didn’t put it away.

The mail carrier came up the walk at eleven thirty, and she had a clipboard.

That was the first thing I saw from the porch, the clipboard, and the way she held it against her chest as if she didn’t want to hand it over.