Julian opened the door holding a blue folder of tax mail I had picked up from Dad’s porch earlier that morning.

He wore a crisp white button-down shirt, and his gold wristwatch caught the gray afternoon light when he raised his hand.

“Elena,” he said, stepping out onto the concrete step and pulling the front door nearly shut behind him.

“I thought you were resting at home.”

“I went to First National Bank on Main Street,” I said.

“I went to deposit the floral refund.”

Julian adjusted his gold wristwatch, sliding the metal band two inches up his arm.