Vance,” the teller’s voice said through the speaker.

“Just Nora Vance,” I said into the speaker, sliding the deposit book onto the passenger seat.

“Thank you.”

By five thirty that evening, the late sun was turning the dirt driveway gold as I pulled up to my parents’ farmhouse.

Ben and Daisy were playing in the front yard, kicking a faded red rubber kickball back and forth between two sweet corn crates.

Ben chased the ball as it rolled toward the gravel driveway, his left foot landing awkwardly on the packed dirt.