My landlord would be knocking on this door about the overdue rent before noon.

I had absolutely zero dollars in my checking account at First Horizon.

I had twenty-five cents in my coat pocket.

I picked up the embroidered cloth napkin from the floor.

The fabric was surprisingly soft, stitched with tiny blue flowers in the corners.

Beatrice used to keep this exact napkin folded in her kitchen drawer.

It smelled faintly of dried lavender and old paper.

There was a small, stiff square of cardstock folded inside the cloth.