The envelope held another birthday card. The front had a drawing of a cake and balloons. Inside the message was written in careful kid handwriting. It said “Dear Dad, thank you for the new bike even though we can’t tell anyone it came from you.

I love you and hope you come to my party next year. Love, Emma.”

I read it three times. Then I put everything back in the drawer and closed it.

Richard came home that evening and asked what was for supper. I told him leftovers and he said that was fine. He hung up his coat and asked if I had taken his winter one to the cleaners yet. I said not yet.

He did not ask anything else. I stood at the stove and stirred the soup and wondered how long I could keep the key hidden before I had to decide what to do with it.

The spoon felt warm in my hand and the steam from the soup kept rising in little curls that fogged my glasses. It smelled like the roast chicken from Sunday dinner with a bit of extra celery thrown in. I tasted a spoonful and it was fine but I stirred it anyway because my hands needed something to do.

Richard sat down at the table and the chair made that soft creak it always does. He flipped open the newspaper without looking up.

“Anything good come in the mail today?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Just the usual bills and junk.”

He gave a little laugh. “Figures. Nothing ever changes around here.”

The key sat in my dress pocket and I could feel the edge of it pressing against my leg every time I moved. I kept stirring the soup even though it was plenty hot already. The bubbles popped soft against the side of the pot.

Richard turned a page and cleared his throat. “You seem quiet tonight. Everything all right over there?”

“Fine,” I said. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” he asked.

I shrugged even though he wasn’t looking at me. “Nothing special. The weather maybe.”

He didn’t say anything back right away. I heard him fold the paper and set it down. The clock on the wall ticked and I noticed how loud it sounded all of a sudden. Richard stood up and walked over to the counter where his glasses were sitting.

“Thanks for finding these,” he said. “I would have been hunting all night.”

“You’re welcome,” I told him.

He came closer and put one hand on my back for a second. “You sure you don’t want to sit down? I can finish stirring if you like.”

“No, I’ve got it,” I said. “It won’t take but a minute more.”