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

“You don’t have to rush off,” Helen said.

“Do you?”

“The roads get slick when the temperature drops,” Arthur said.

“She should go.

That truck is a death trap.”

I pushed my chair back and took my plate to the sink.

Desmond stared down at his leather shoes the whole time I walked past him.

He didn’t say goodbye when I pushed open the back door.