“I put it with the photos.”

At six thirty I laid everything out on the kitchen table.

Maya slept in her bassinet by the window, the floral baby blanket pulled up to her chin.

Her left fist was curled against her cheek.

I spread the bank statements, the hotel photos, the Springfield envelope, and the receipt for thirty-two dollars from the upscale lounge across the table.

I put the bank pages in the left pocket of the portfolio, the photos in the right.