A newspaper sat folded to the crossword puzzle, half completed.

I moved nothing.

I filled the kettle and sat in the chair opposite his.

That was our place.

Arthur liked his coffee almost black, with enough milk to turn it the color of old wood.

I took more milk than he did and always complained that he brewed it too strong.

He would say, “That’s because you haven’t grown up yet, Julian.” It was a joke he’d repeated for twelve years, and suddenly I wanted very badly to hear it one more time.

A knock sounded at the back door.