“The total fee is fifty dollars for each certified month, plus ninety dollars for a copy of the fraud file.”

“Go ahead with the order,” I said.

By four o’clock that afternoon, our kitchen table was covered in neat rows of white paper.

Evan sat in his flannel robe holding an ink pad and a wooden numbering stamp in his right hand.

Lucy sat on the living room rug nearby, twisting the loose threads on her sleeve while her red stuffed rabbit leaned against her knee.

“How much did the bank charge altogether?” Evan asked, pressing the ink stamp onto page fourteen.