The eighteen-dollar silver-plated coffee pot was missing its lid handle, and the stack of mail on the kitchen counter had remained untouched for four days.
Gloria washed a heavy ceramic plate, her fingers splashing in the warm suds.
“The committee needs to know about the winter festival booths by Friday,” Gloria said, her voice coming in a warm, breathless rush.
Sarah set the coffee pot down on the stove.
She adjusted the silver clip holding her hair back, her fingers lingering on the cold metal.
She glanced at the unopened letters, noting a thick white envelope addressed to Todd from an Anchorage legal office.
“Is that a state letter?” Gloria asked, pointing her wet thumb toward the counter.
“Just some business files for the boat,” Sarah said.
Her court-issued silver wedding band caught the morning light as she moved the pile aside to make room for the cups.
“He has been putting in seventy hours a week at the Prudhoe Bay oil field office lately,” Sarah said.
She pulled two mugs from the cupboard.
“Still,” Gloria said, turning off the tap and wiping her hands on a dry towel. “He usually keeps up with the bills.”
Sarah kept her eyes on the coffee stream, ignoring the quiet knot forming in her stomach.
Why was Todd suddenly working late at the oil field office every single night?
“He is just tired from the season,” Sarah said, though she knew the winter maintenance schedule had not started yet.
Gloria dried the plate, her eyes lingering on the stack of mail.
“People are starting to talk about how quiet the house has been,” Gloria added softly.
