“Your home equity line is fully active again, Mrs.

Miller,” the teller said through the intercom.

“Thanks very much,” I said.

By six thirty the kitchen on Maple Street was warm with the smell of roast chicken and simmered rice.

David sat at the little wooden table in the breakfast nook with his big hands flat on his knees while Bennett showed him a new crayon drawing of a blue house with yellow stars.

“The stars go right on the ceiling, Dad,” Bennett said, pointing at the top of the page.