It was a local bus schedule for the Route 14 express line heading south to Westfall, with little red ink circles drawn around the 6:45 p.m. arrival times.

Heavy footsteps crunched on the gravel driveway outside.

I pushed the bottom drawer closed, turned the little silver key back to the left, and set the brass key ring right in the middle of the wooden tray.

Bob came into the sunroom with his gray wool coat already folded over his forearm.

He didn’t ask why I was standing beside his desk in the dim light.

He reached into the tray, picked up the key ring, and slid it into the pocket of his trousers.