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

“There was a detour on the state route,” I said.

He tapped his knuckles on the table next to the open ledger.

It was a quick, impatient sound.

“I ordered you the turkey club,” he said.

“They charge two dollars extra for the fries now.”

A waitress set our white ceramic plates down and walked away without asking if we needed anything else.

I picked up half of my sandwich.

Arthur ignored his food and stared at the pages of his book.