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

My cell phone buzzed against my leg.

I pulled it out of my jeans pocket.

Helen had sent a text asking whether I was driving into town today.

She needed a few grocery items.

I locked the screen and put the phone back in my pocket.

I wiped a layer of dust off the counter with my bare hand, then wiped the dirt off my hands onto my jeans.

The moving man carried the empty boxes into the pantry.