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.
The total at the bottom was printed in bold ink, showing a charge of twenty-four hundred dollars.
My own white gold bracelet, the one currently sitting on my nightstand, was priced in the little catalog on our coffee table at twelve hundred.
I folded the paper along its original lines and slipped it into the pocket of my cardigan.
The drive to the strip mall took twenty minutes, past the car wash and the abandoned garden center where the plastic greenhouses had begun to tear.
The sign for Gold & Solder hummed with a faint blue neon glow even in the mid-morning light.
A small brass bell chimed above the door as I walked inside, the carpet smelling of vacuum powder and commercial glass cleaner.
A woman with short brown hair and thin wire-rimmed glasses came out from behind a counter of silver chains.
