Walter grabbed my thumb and clung to it and wouldn’t let go.

What I couldn’t get to settle was the image of those two men with the pallet jack, saying nothing, turning back to their work, making up their minds about me without a single word.

In six years at that building, I’d never been late even once.

The apartment door opened and closed.

Helen’s keys fell into the bowl by the door.

“You’re home,” she called out.