“Where my mother put it.

At the bank.” He glanced at his watch.

“It isn’t even five yet.”

“It’s already five fifteen.”

He looked at the clock on the stove and then back at his watch, as if one of them was lying to him.

“My mother will be here at seven,” he said.

“Brooke is driving her over.”

I ran hot water into the pot, set it in the sink, and watched the steam crawl up the window.