Martha took the bill, grabbed the three pages, and walked over to a grey copy machine in the corner.

She took her time, aligning each page perfectly on the glass before pressing the start button.

When I got home, Emma was in the dining room, sorting her college textbooks into two neat piles on the table.

She looked up when I let the screen door click shut behind me.

“Did you get them?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“I have the copies right here,” I said, laying the warm paper on the mahogany table.

Emma dropped a heavy biology textbook and came over, her silver ring twisting rapidly around her middle finger.