I stopped by the umbrella stand in her hall.

“What closing paperwork?” I asked her.

“He didn’t give me the details,” she answered, her voice slow and gentle.

“Just that the numbers had to be checked in person before the eighth of November.”

Evan came out of her back room holding a ceramic mug.

His white shirt sleeves were rolled up neatly to his elbows.

“Mom,” he said, putting the mug down on the little end table.

“I thought you were on the library desk until noon.”