The names were written in tidy cursive with a pale blue fountain pen.

Dale Heckert was on the third line, between a boy named Miller and a girl named Vance.

Beside his name was the figure three dollars and twenty cents, with a little red cross in the margin.

“His mother worked ten-hour shifts at the wire plant out on County Road Four,” Irene said.

She patted her apron pockets out of habit, though she had on a wool cardigan instead.

“Every Tuesday Dale came down the lunch line with two plain slices of white bread in a greasy brown bag.”