And then, every Saturday, the minute his shift ends, he walks.

Three miles, across town, on foot.

To the county offices, and to the medical billing department.” I could not make the words connect to anything.

“The billing department,” I repeated, uselessly.

“Why would he”

“The hospital debt, ma’am,” Sal said, as gently as such a thing can be said.

“From your husband’s final weeks.

And the back taxes on your house.