Every Night at Six Thirty, Bob Drove Away, Until His Other Wife Said My Name

Donald slid the signature card over the desk and handed me his pen.

I wrote my full legal name along the white line, pressing down hard on the paper.

Donald took the signed card, keyed the ledger numbers into his terminal, and drew a new passbook out of his drawer.

He fed the little paper booklet through the validator, stamping the top line in fresh blue ink.

He passed the new passbook to me across the desk.

Stamped on the first page was my name by itself, followed by an opening balance of forty-two thousand dollars.