“Two sandwiches is too many,” she said.

“One is for after school.” I put the second one in and snapped the latch.

The brass clipboard clip sat by the salt shaker where I had left it the night before, and my son picked it up and squeezed it open and shut twice.

“Does this go on the guns?”

“It goes on the paper.” I took it back and slid it into my jacket pocket.

My oldest stood at the screen door with her backpack on one shoulder, watching the street instead of me.