Nate nodded once, slow and deliberate, and watched the bread pop up from the chrome toaster.

He didn’t ask whether she had mentioned the twenty-thousand-dollar check sitting back in her nightstand drawer.

We both knew that check was going to stay right where she had put it.

Nate buttered his toast with a dull knife and laid the blade across the corner of his plate.

“I stopped by Patty’s diner yesterday on my way home from the clinic,” I said.

Nate held his toast halfway to his mouth and looked at me.