“I’m heading back out to check on the Maple Street site,” he said.

“Quit looking for problems where there aren’t any.”

He went out the back door and let it bang shut behind him.

I sat by myself at the kitchen table.

The rain started again, tapping on the glass.

I turned the bank statement over and held it up under the kitchen light.

The withdrawal had been authorized at eight in the morning on October twelfth.

I listened to his truck start up in the driveway.