But something passed between us over the dinner table, the quick wordless glance of two people who have just privately agreed that a thing is wrong and that they will not, for the moment, say so out loud.

“I was going to look at that tomorrow,” I said.

“You do not need to.”

“I might.”

He tucked it under his arm.

Noah pushed his chair back a few inches and asked why not, and Keith said it was old paperwork, and Noah said it was about the property, and Keith said, “I know what it is about,” and carried it toward the kitchen.

I watched the brown folder disappear against his side, and something in me that had been drifting all evening came suddenly to a point.