“Ranata thought you might be running low on essentials.”

I looked closely at the cans.

They were store brands.

Ranata only bought organic groceries from the expensive specialty market in the city.

She would never eat this food herself.

“I have plenty of food,” I said.

Desmond shifted his weight from foot to foot.

He picked up a piece of split oak from the small woodpile next to the door and turned it over in his hands, feeling the rough edges.