I reached into my skirt pocket, took out the little yellow paint card from Tucson, and held it flat on my palm while I stared down into the dark water of the pool.

I tucked the yellow paint swatch inside the inner zipper of my wallet and drove the Buick down Shea Boulevard at two o’clock the following afternoon.

The blue digital sign on the tall pole at the Circle K read three dollars and eighty-nine cents a gallon.

I pulled in at pump four, put the car in park, switched off the engine, and stepped out onto the hot concrete pad.

The Buick took fifteen gallons of unleaded, and the counter on the pump clicked to a stop at fifty-eight dollars and thirty-five cents.