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

Desmond kept his voice low.

“You don’t have to put on a brave face for us.”

“A brave face for what?” I asked.

He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

He traced the rough bark of the firewood with his thumb.

“The bankruptcy,” he said.

I stood perfectly still.

The kitchen clock ticked loudly on the wall above the sink.