I kept my chef’s knife working against the wooden cutting board, cutting steady, quiet slices through the vegetables.

“Oh, did it?” I asked.

“The bill jumped forty dollars from last month,” Renee said, her voice sinking into the sharp administrative authority she used as a hospital nurse manager.

She spread the printed spreadsheet flat on the counter and drew her manicured nail along a row of figures.

“That’s forty dollars more than the very same statement period last summer,” she said.

“I watered the potted tomatoes by the casita step Tuesday afternoon,” I said.