Brian was already at the kitchen table
Brian was already at the kitchen table, his shoulders hunched over a half-empty mug of black coffee that sat on a folded paper napkin. A small plate with three vanilla wafer crumbs lay near his elbow, the yellow laminate of the table reflecting the bright afternoon light.
I walked over and sat opposite him, my floral skirt whispering against the wood of the chair as I pulled myself close to the table. Between us, I laid the small slip of paper I had found under the velvet tray of Olivia’s wooden jewelry box.
“Look at this,” I said, pushing the paper across the yellow surface until it rested against the side of his mug.
Brian did not look up immediately. He reached down and adjusted his silver wristwatch, turning the face of it so it lined up perfectly with his wrist bone, then tapped his fingers against the table.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice low and raspy from hours of silence.
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Author
Andrew Collins
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