He rubbed his thumb over the knuckles of his left hand, his skin rough and grayed from forty years of carpentry.

“He had three boxes of small engine manuals under the window,” Raymond said.

“You want me to take those to the garage?”

“Leave them for now, Uncle Raymond,” I said.

I sat in Dad’s swivel chair and pulled open the bottom file drawer on the left side of the desk.

Dad kept every bill, utility stub, and bank statement in green hanging folders, labeled by year in his neat block handwriting.

I pulled out the folder marked First National Bank and laid it flat next to the blotter.