He didn’t argue about what that meant.

PART 20

I took a second job contract in late spring, processing invoices for a neighborhood nonprofit.

The extra income wasn’t enormous, but it covered the difference between merely surviving and being able to save for emergencies.

Twice a week I worked at the kitchen table while the girls napped, the baby monitor glowing beside my laptop.

The nonprofit’s director, Beatrice, was a soft-spoken woman who treated schedules as promises.

When an invoice was late, she called rather than letting anyone guess.