She placed my heavy winter jacket carefully on the wooden peg by the door.
She did not have a suitcase. There were no boxes near the entryway, and the closet doors remained closed.
“Your tea is on the stove,” she said.
She went back toward the kitchen, her wool slippers quiet on the floorboards.
I stood up from the sofa and walked into the narrow hallway.
The house was cold, and the air smelled of damp pine needles from the yard.
My jacket hung alone by the back door.
I walked down to the Oak Creek Savings Bank at ten o’clock. Richard was waiting by the low wooden gate near the teller counter, polishing his gold-rimmed reading glasses with the corner of his tie. He did not say hello, but he held out a long white paper envelope.
“This is the official record of the transfer,” Richard said, his voice dropping into his old banking register. “Eighty-five thousand dollars, moved by wire on the eleventh of September.”
