A Stranger Left an Envelope Beside My Bed on My Sixty-Second Birthday—Then I Found His Photograph with My Son

“I brought up the locks.”

We stood facing sacks of flour, speaking quietly because neither of us wanted strangers to hear.

“You said you’d make the utilities work,” I said.

“Has the shop found more money?”

“A private investor.

Short-term help.”

“Enough before November twelfth?”

“It should be.”