He didn’t try the handle.

“There is chicken in the kitchen,” he said.

“Lemon pepper, the kind you like.”

He went back down the hall.

The car started in the driveway.

I stayed by the desk until the sound of it faded past the corner.

That evening I waited until he was asleep in the recliner with the television on.

The step stool scraped the floor when I pulled it out.