“No,” Douglas said.

“I didn’t think you had.

Ask the branch for a certified copy, and don’t touch the original.”

I folded the ledger sheet and slipped it into my jacket next to the citation.

“How much is left in the secondary account?”

“Two hundred six dollars.”

At twelve thirty Evelyn drove me to Oak Ridge Road to pick up six days of mail, and my phone rang while I was standing in the driveway with the pile in my arms.

“Baby.” Derek, my husband, talked fast, the way he did when he’d already decided how the conversation would end.