Twelve Months Later, Ethan Came Back With a Sleeping Newborn and a Broken Suitcase

A paper tag read P.O.

Box 114, Fairview.

I worked the tape loose with my thumbnail and put the key in my apron pocket.

My fingers smelled like metal.

A yellow sticky note was stuck to the back of the folder.

Richard’s block letters: Ask V. before Friday.

I heard the garage door.

I pushed the folder back under the hanging file and slid the drawer shut.