I adjusted my silver wristwatch, turning the face until it sat square on my arm.

“There should be nine hundred dollars sitting in that account right now,” I said.

Mark turned his head, his face half lit by the yellow porch bulb.

“Money is tight for every family in this county right now, Nora, so stop nitpicking forty-dollar grocery runs,” he said.

“I’m not nitpicking grocery runs,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

“I’m reading the exact numbers off our bank statements.”

Mark stood up from the porch step and rubbed the back of his neck with his palm.