“Did you get around to calling that lawyer back, sweetheart?” she asked.

I put my purse on the table and held it tight against my knees as I sat down.

I pushed the thick manila document across the oilcloth.

“He wants me at his downtown office at eight thirty tomorrow,” I said.

Helen shut off the faucet and dried her palms on her dish towel.

She lifted the legal paper by its corners, holding it as though it might scorch her fingers.

“Patricia’s going to be sitting right across the table from you,” Helen said.