Seven Yellow Folders Exposed What My Parents Had Done to Ethan

“Don’t take it back to Pine Street.”

“Before breakfast Mom asked me about these yellow files,” Ethan said.

“And what did you say to her?” I asked.

“I told her I tossed them in the blue recycling bin at the end of the driveway,” Ethan said.

He looked out the passenger window toward the corner, where a dark luxury sedan sat idling in the rain.

At five o’clock I was sitting in a corner booth at the Elm Avenue Diner across from Arthur Vance.

The waitress set down two four-dollar diner coffees in heavy porcelain mugs, dropped the paper check between us, and walked off.