By eight the next morning, I was at the tall marble counter of First National Bank while the teller ran her blue pen down my printed monthly statement.

“There’s two hundred and twelve dollars left in the main shop account, Daniel,” she said, peering up over her reading glasses.

I put my coffee mug down on the wooden trim and leaned in toward the glass partition.

“That balance ought to be six hundred and twelve.

I deposited four hundred in cash on Friday from the oak cabinet restoration.”

She turned the sheet around and pointed her pen at a line halfway down the page.