A hundred twelve dollars was all that was left in checking.

That would leave twenty-six and a court date.

By three thirty Evelyn had Lily at her kitchen table, and she cut the sandwiches into triangles, because a square, she said, was an insult to a child.

Lily ate with her bear jammed under one arm and a silver baby rattle in her other hand.

She shook it, listened, then shook it again.

“Where’d that come from?” I asked.