“Clerical error.

Somebody keyed in the wrong account number.

That happens, Sarah.

My father had a check come back to him from Chicago once, and it took three weeks to straighten out.”

“Your father would have called the bank before his coffee cooled.”

“That’s true.” He tapped his ring against the arm of the chair and stopped himself.

I opened the black ledger to the page where Martha’s household numbers started in May.

Lawn maintenance, thirty-five a month, then seventy, then ninety-five.