The combination is written in the ledger, the date my father bought this house, written backward because he thought that was clever.

Nineteen sixty-two turned into two, six, nine, one, and the handle dropped.

I put the leather briefcase in first.

The brass lock bumped against the shelf, and the smell rose off it, pipe smoke and cold airplane air and old paper.

Before I closed the door, I ran my hand along the lining, and a card slipped out of the seam.

A grocery list from the market on Charles Street.