“Is Arthur’s account number on that school paper?” he asked quietly.

“We don’t know yet, Noah,” I said.

Lily shook her jam jar so the six quarters clinked against the glass.

“I’ve got a dollar fifty right here if we need more paper wrappers, Mom.”

I touched Lily’s shoulder gently.

“You keep your quarters in your jar, sweetie.”

My cell phone lay on the tablecloth beside my elbow, its screen showing a checking balance of forty-two dollars.

Noah’s asthma medicine co-pay at the clinic was due Monday morning, and eight hundred fifty dollars was the exact deposit needed for his inhaler prescriptions without insurance.