He took four quick steps toward me, his thumbs hooked tight in his belt loops.

“My mother is sixty-six years old,” he said, turning his chin toward Grace and then toward Carl.

“She worked thirty-five years for the telephone company, and my wife shut off her card while she was standing in front of hotel staff.”

I stood beside the tailgate of Carl’s truck, holding my cedar tally board against my ribs.

“The secondary cards were activated eleven months ago from your personal laptop without my permission, Mark,” I said.

“It was a shared family credit line for running the household,” Mark said, waving his hand through the air as if he could sweep the words away.