“Daniel, you’ve got to give me until Friday,” she said.

Her voice had lost all its confidence and gone thin and scratchy, like dry paper.

She reached out and grabbed the edge of the counter to steady herself.

“Friday’s four days off,” I said.

“I’ve got forty-eight dollars in my purse,” she said.

“The motel out on the highway wants sixty-five for a single bed.”

“You can catch the morning bus to Chicago,” I said.

“On forty-eight dollars?” She tugged at a loose black thread on the seam of her jacket sleeve.