The bottom drawer opened with a dry scrape after Sam used the key.

Inside were envelopes and a thin folder labeled March 9, 1998.

I had heard the date so often that it had begun to lose its meaning.

Seeing it written by a person who expected to find that folder again restored the ordinary significance.

It was a day.

People had talked, signed papers, and gone home.

The consequences had continued long afterward.

There was also a copying receipt dated September 14, 1998.