Mark set the clean aluminum pan on the wooden drying rack next to the faucet.

“Rob’s car got towed out of the driveway before lunch,” Mark said.

“She didn’t have three hundred dollars for a bus ticket.”

“That’s her business now,” I said.

“Not ours.”

I stacked the dry glass bowls in the pine cupboard above the counter and pulled the door shut.

The old kitchen refrigerator gave out its loud, steady hum from the corner by the back pantry.

“Did you know about the business account back then?” Mark asked, turning with a wet sponge in his hand.