“Greg never steps out the door without his father’s watch,” I said, rubbing the faint pale mark on my left ring finger where my gold band usually sat.

“He didn’t forget it.”

By eleven o’clock, Lynn had gone home to her husband, leaving a glass dish of tuna salad wrapped in plastic on the counter.

I sat alone at the kitchen table, holding a glass mug of chamomile tea that had gone completely cold twenty minutes ago.

The manila envelope stayed beside the salt shaker, its brass prongs bent outward like small metal claws.

I picked up my cell phone from the place mat and dialed Greg’s number.