He didn’t say hello, just spoke in his quiet, methodical way, as though we were sitting across a kitchen table in my old house.

“Loretta.

David called me four minutes ago from his office.”

“I have my old checkbook register right here on the mattress, Arthur.”

“Read me every single entry,” he said.

“Start from the day your home sale closed in South Columbus.”

I smoothed the worn leather cover of the checkbook with my thumb.

“March twenty-eighth.