Forty-One Thousand Dollars and a Yellow Paper Envelope

Frank came out from the back office, jingling his master keys.

“Everything all right out here?”

“Just visiting my son,” Brenda said.

Frank looked at me, then at the box, then at the way her hand stayed near her collar.

He went back to his newspaper.

Brenda held the box out again.

“May I come in?

Five minutes.”