Paying three hundred thousand dollars of debt before being ordered out of the house
I walked through the downstairs rooms, checking the windows to make sure they were locked.
The glass in the parlor window was cold against my fingers.
I could see the mail carrier walking down the opposite side of the street, his leather bag slung over his shoulder.
He did not cross over to my house.
There was no mail left to receive here.
I went out the back door and down the wooden steps into the yard.
The autumn leaves had gathered in thick, dry piles along the fence line.
I found the bamboo rake leaning against the side of the garage, the prongs clean and dry.
I began to work at the edge of the lawn, pulling the red and yellow maple leaves into a neat row.
The movement was steady and quiet, the dry leaves rustling against the grass as I pulled them toward the compost bin.
The sun had climbed higher, but the air remained cool, smelling of damp earth and wood smoke from the chimney down the street.
Mr. Henderson, the neighbor from forty-two Elmwood, walked along the sidewalk and stopped by the low gate.
