“We tried, Robert.

God knows we tried.”

My father reached for the brass latch on the kitchen’s back door.

As he raised his right arm to push the screen door open, his unbuttoned coat swung wide in the evening breeze.

A thick, glossy navy blue folder slid halfway out of his inside coat pocket.

The yellow light from the kitchen porch caught the gold foil lettering on the white paper tab sticking out of the top.

I saw the company logo clearly before he jammed his gloved hand into his coat and shoved the document deep into the lining.