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

She wrapped both hands around the warm ceramic mug.

She didn’t take a sip.

“You look tired, Mom,” I said.

Helen gave a tight, forced smile.

“Just the change in the weather,” she said.

“Arthur has been quite demanding lately.

He worries about the upkeep on the house.”

I sat back in my metal chair.