He did not come back inside.
He stood by the railing, staring out into the dark yard.
By nine the next morning, Nolan had already left for his Saturday shift at the lumberyard, leaving his side of the bed made with the military corners he always insisted on.
I carried a basket of folded undershirts and socks into the master bedroom, placing them on his cedar chest before pulling open his top dresser drawer.
The drawer smelled of cedar shaving blocks and the mild lavender soap I used to wash the cotton knits.
I stacked the shirts in the back corner, my fingers brushing against a small piece of thermal paper that had been tucked under his wool hiking socks.
I pulled it out, smoothing the creases against the dark wood of the dresser.
It was a register receipt from Gold & Solder, the jewelry store in the strip mall by the highway, dated five days ago.
