Yellow Ceramic Mug and Red Silk Scarf in a Red Buick

left my half-eaten sandwich on the plate.

When I pulled into my gravel driveway at half past three, Julian’s red Buick was parked crookedly near the garage.

He was lifting a heavy cardboard bankers box out of the trunk, his face flushed red from the autumn chill.

“What are those, Julian?” I asked, stopping on the gravel path.

“Just some continue reading …