He worked as a commercial electrician, paid his bills before they were due, and kept an account of every household expense in a little green ledger.

Beverly called the ledger ridiculous.

Gordon called his father old-fashioned.

Walter simply kept writing.

When the stroke left him needing help dressing, eating, and speaking, I assumed we would all share the work.

Instead Gordon arranged to travel more often.

Beverly announced that nursing made her anxious and moved her television into the sunroom, where she could keep the door closed.

I learned how to help Walter transfer safely from bed to chair.

I learned to understand the pauses between his words.

Some nights we listened to baseball on the radio while I sorted medication by the schedule the visiting nurse had left.

One Tuesday he asked for the green ledger.

“I have something to show you,” he said.

For several minutes he turned pages with his unsteady hand.

He pointed to a line containing the condo’s purchase price, another showing the final mortgage payment, and a final notation beneath his signature.