I dropped the ruined sweatshirt into the porcelain sink and turned the brass faucet handle.

Hot water ran over the yellow cotton.

I picked up a bar of white soap from the dish.

Dried maple syrup was already caked stiff on the left sleeve.

I worked the soap deep into the fabric and watched the brown stain fade under the running water.

The water drummed hard against the bottom of the sink.

Underneath that sound, I heard something else coming up through the metal heating vent in the floorboards.

It was a low, hurried whisper coming from the kitchen.