He backed up the driveway with the trunk already open.

“Look, I’ll handle the heavy ones,” he said.

“You shouldn’t be lifting file boxes.”

There were four of them by the side door, and he carried them out one at a time, setting each one in the trunk the way you set down something you don’t want to have to explain.

“Where are those going?”

“Into storage.

Your mother wants the study cleared out for the painter.”

“Nobody said anything to me about a painter.” I lifted the lid on the closest box.