Thirty-Nine Million Dollars and a Brown Folder on the Kitchen Table

“Fay,” she said.

“What are you doing in town?”

I looked at her purse.

“Just running errands,” I said.

“Do you want to get a cup of coffee?”

The coffee shop next to the bank smelled of burnt sugar and wet wool.

We found a small wooden table by the back window.

I bought two black coffees and set one in front of Helen.