Judy held my elbow as we walked through Jeff’s living room toward the kitchen.

Six people from Jeff’s propane company were standing around the island eating tortilla chips from a bowl.

“Look at these oak cabinets,” Judy whispered, pulling me closer by the arm.

She squeezed my sleeve just above the elbow and beamed up at the high drywall ceiling.

“Jeff never could save a dime on his own,” Judy said softly to the kitchen.

Jeff looked down at his work shoes and scratched his collarbone.