He laid the bills on the hood of my car and stepped back, like a man who had just settled something.

I picked them up.

He nodded at me, slow and patient, the way he used to nod at our youngest when she was being stubborn about her shoes.

I set them flat on the concrete by his boot and went back up the steps.

He stood there a second.

Then he followed me in.

The screen door didn’t catch behind him.

He bent the spring back with his thumb without looking at it, the way he had done a hundred times, and for one second there was nothing the matter with any of this.