When dinner ended, I walked Chloe out to her blue sedan in the damp autumn darkness.

A cold mist was falling over the concrete driveway, turning the stones slick beneath our shoes as we walked side by side toward her car.

“Chloe, listen to me for one minute,” I said, reaching deep into my cardigan pocket and pulling out the folded bank statement I had saved from the trash.

“Look at this account name.”

She pulled her coat collar high around her neck and took a quick step back toward her car door.

“I’m not standing in the rain to look at crumpled paper from the trash, Aunt Margaret.”