He reached into his pocket and handed me a folded white slip.

“I paid the fifty-dollar urgent care copay on my debit card before I left Elm Street,” Ethan said.

“I wanted to make sure your ankle treatment was covered.”

“Thank you,” I said, putting the slip in my tote bag.

“I made an intake appointment at the community counseling center,” Ethan said.

“Tuesday afternoon at four o’clock with a family therapist.”

“That’s for you alone?” I asked.