The key turned with a heavy, satisfying click.

I pushed the door open and stepped into the warm front hallway.

Arthur stood in the kitchen unwrapping a set of ceramic plates.

He wore a casual wool sweater instead of his usual gray suit.

“The truck is officially empty,” I said.

“Good,” Arthur said.

“Because I’m officially out of packing paper to unfold.”

I set the last cardboard box on the granite island next to the sink.