He knew exactly which drawer held the paper coffee filters and where Robert kept the raw sugar packets.

For a few minutes the only sounds were the coffee grinder buzzing and the water coming to a boil.

He opened the stainless steel refrigerator and took out the small carton of cream.

“Do you remember when you dropped the coffee pot on 84th Street?” he asked.

“I was terrified,” I said.

“We had twelve dollars in the checking account.”

“And I told you it didn’t matter, because we had each other.”