“I’m her son, Nora.

It’s my duty to look after her.”

“You did it using my Social Security number,” I said.

“We’re married, Nora,” he said, his breath coming fast through the speaker.

“You’re acting like a cold stranger over a four-thousand-eight-hundred-dollar lodging bill.

Unblock the card right now.”

Daisy picked up a stray ear of sweet corn from the grass, her fingers tracing the yellow silk, her eyes quietly watching my face.

“I’m standing on the side of Route 9 selling sweet corn with our children, Mark,” I said.