I had poured them myself from the old glass pot on the counter.

Walt sat at the head of the table in a heavy flannel shirt buttoned to the collar, his shoulders slumped forward.

The room felt completely empty without June standing at the counter.

The smell of her baked ham and scalloped potatoes at Easter was gone.

The house held only the sharp smell of stale coffee and cold air.

Luke reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and took out a piece of paper folded neatly in half.

He set it on the table and slid it across the worn linoleum pattern.