I took my linen handkerchief out of my trouser pocket and breathed gently on the lenses.

I polished them slowly, working the soft cloth in small, careful circles until every smudge and fingerprint was gone.

I laid the glasses on the bedside table, right next to a new wooden frame I’d bought at the hardware store downtown.

In the frame was a color photo of the ocean shore I’d taken from the balcony three days after I moved out of the main house.

The apartment was silent except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the steady sound of the tide rolling over the rocks outside.