He laid his paintbrush across the open mouth of the can and pulled a folded envelope out of his back pocket.

“Since my hands are already dirty, could you do me a quick favor with this?” Bob asked.

He held the envelope out to me by one corner.

“What’s in it?” I asked.

“Just the usual paperwork for refinancing what we owe on the Oakridge house,” Bob said.

“The bank’s vice president brought it up on Tuesday.”

“Donald talked to you about a refinance?”

“Donald said rates dropped half a point this week,” Bob said, handing me the blue ballpoint pen from his shirt pocket.