She turned the envelope toward herself and held it out at arm’s length, then closer.

“I don’t keep the notices straight anymore,” she said.

“They come every month, and they all look alike.”

“Whose card?” I asked.

Deena looked at Martha, then back at her screen.

“I’d have to pull the signature card, and that’s a branch request.

You’d need to come in on a weekday with photo ID.”

“Sarah,” Martha said.