“Eat your potatoes.”

The furnace ran in the basement.

A plow went by with its blade down and threw grit against the dining room windows.

I folded my napkin into a square, pressed the crease, and set it down again.

Helen set her fork down too.

“You should know the concierge called the house yesterday.”

“Why would he call here?”

“Because I’m the second name on that credit card, and I told him to.” She wiped her mouth.