Perhaps she had thought getting help would be something she arranged for me, once I agreed to the sort of help she preferred.

“Good,” she said at last.

“That’s good.”

I wanted to tell her about the relief of hearing someone believe me before I showed her a piece of paper.

Instead, I asked her to make tea.

There was only so much I could bear in one day.

The following afternoon, I went to the hardware store.

Martha had advised me not to sign anything or get drawn into private negotiations.