“That’s the last one?”

“That’s the last one.” The cordless in the kitchen had gone out in the trash Monday, and the phone beside my bed had been off since Sunday night.

“Twelve years I’ve had that phone,” I said.

“I know how long you’ve had it.”

I opened the desk drawer where I keep the checkbook.

It sat there in its blue cover, the register still showing the balance I knew by heart, and I laid the phone down next to it, screen up.

“You aren’t going to answer it at all.”