I laid them flat in the bed and got in and started the engine, and I drove home with nothing in the back but two flat sacks.

Frank’s headlights swung across the shed door at six, before the sky had gone gray.

I had the key in my coat pocket already, warm from my hand.

“You going to stand out here or open it?” Frank said, and set his thermos on the truck hood.

“Cold morning,” I said.

“It is December in Hartwell County.

That is what December does.” He cleared his throat.

“The trunk’s under the bench, behind the seed crates.