“I don’t want one dollar from Frank’s account, and I don’t want Gene’s money either.”

She turned around from the counter with something in her right hand.

It was the green plastic horse Frank had kept hidden in his nightstand drawer for thirty-four years, its mane chipped along the top.

She set the toy horse right in the middle of the yellow table.

Then she reached into the wooden cupboard over the stove, took down two matching blue ceramic coffee mugs, and placed one on each side of the toy.

“It’s a small horse, but it carried thirty-four years of waiting,” she said, her index finger brushing the crescent scar under her chin.