“He went to the hardware store with Julian,” Martha said, drawing her hand back to fold her napkin into a neat triangle.

“They had some fitting work to do on the side door.”

I laid my spoon against the polished rim of the bowl.

“What sort of fitting work?”

Martha looked down at her silver spoon and turned it slowly between her fingers without replying.

“Arthur said the latch on the garage entrance was sticking,” she said after a long pause.

“He thought it best to deal with it before the cold weather settles in for good.”

“The garage latch got replaced in August,” I said.