The teller counted the cash I deposited twice.

“One thousand nine hundred forty.”

I had imagined that reserve paying for tires or a broken appliance.

Now it had immediate work to do.

When we returned, Marjorie took a thin folder from her bag.

“I brought something Daniel gave me.”

She showed me a copy of a handwritten letter from Ben’s first year, dated a little over seven years earlier.

Ben was eight now.