PART 1 — Page Forty

I measured three scoops of dark roast into the coffee grinder.

Its harsh rattle filled the kitchen, and when I switched it off, I listened to the house.

Clara was awake.

I could hear her footsteps on the wooden stairs.

She moved slowly these days, pausing at the turn where the banister curved toward the hall.

I cracked three eggs into a glass bowl.

The skillet was already hot.

I poured them in and reached for the spatula.

The toaster popped just as someone hammered a fist against the front door.

The sound traveled down the hallway.

It reminded me of the heavy brass knocker on Arthur’s front door, although ours had no such ornament.

I turned down the burner.

Clara entered in her thick wool robe and set an empty ceramic mug on the island.

Her hand rose to her collarbone as she looked toward the hall.

Arthur appeared in the archway before I could greet him.

My wife’s father wore a tailored wool suit and carried a thick green ledger under his left arm.

He did not say good morning.