“Arthur knows that,” Helen said.

“That’s exactly why he called the administrator directly instead of going to your office.

Don’t let him push you out of this room, Tom.”

By nine, the yellow kitchen light at the rectory buzzed softly over the laminate counter while the coffeepot bubbled on the stove.

Wade sat at the wooden table surrounded by three manila folders and a pile of Margaret’s hospital bills.

He pushed up his silver-framed glasses when I put two ceramic mugs on the table.