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

“I’m running errands in town,” I said.

“We were just talking about you this morning,” Ranata said.

“Desmond and I.

We worry about you out there all alone.”

I picked up the plastic bag by its flimsy handles.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“Are you?” she asked.

“Because you seemed so quiet at dinner last night.