“It made the house feel like a museum where someone had stolen the exhibits.”

“I regretted it every day until I bought a similar one just to have it in the corner,” he said.

“I don’t want David to feel that regret.”

“Especially not when he’s already carrying so much grief,” Harold added.

The kettle began to whistle, a low sound that grew into a sharp pierce.

Rachel turned off the burner and poured the hot water into three mugs.

“He’s here,” Rachel said suddenly, looking out the window over the sink.

I heard the gravel crunch in the driveway.

A car door slammed.

It was a heavy, familiar sound.

Then came the sound of another vehicle.

A larger engine, idling roughly.

“The liquidator is early,” Rachel said.

I stood up and went to the window.

A rusty white box truck was parked behind David’s sedan.

A man in a stained canvas jacket was getting out of the passenger side.

David was already walking toward the backyard, his head down against the drizzle.

“Let’s go,” I said.

Harold stood up immediately.

“I am right behind you,” he said.