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

He often complained that closing the house up made it feel small and cramped.

I stood on the walkway and watched the silent house.

The front door was solid wood.

The porch light was off.

I heard the faint sound of a television from a neighbor’s open window.

A dog barked twice on the next street over.

I shifted the grocery bags in my hands.

The plastic loops dug into my fingers.