I was standing at the sink, drying June’s old glass serving plate with a cotton towel.

I set the glass plate carefully in the wooden cabinet and told him to look at the newspaper.

He walked over and read the bold print in the agricultural section.

Luke buried his hands deep in the pockets of the coat he had draped over a wooden chair.

“It says open auction.”

I pointed to the auction date, set for the last Saturday in March.

He leaned over the counter and read the property description twice, tracing the text with a grease-stained finger.