“Garrett,” he said, getting up so fast his metal chair scraped hard on the linoleum.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Arthur, I need five minutes.”

I walked past the counter and sat in the wooden visitor’s chair across from him.

“The papers came over from the county clerk yesterday,” Arthur said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“They say you’re under a court conservatorship.”

“I’m not under anything,” I said.

“I’m standing right here in front of you.”