Then Lucas’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out, turned his shoulder, and typed with both thumbs.

I looked down at my own screen.

The send icon blinked once and vanished.

Helen counted the deposit slip twice before she said anything.

She had my checkbook open on the counter between us, the register filled in in my own handwriting, and she ran the tip of her pen down the column of figures.

“Twelve thousand five hundred,” she said.