The wind was coming off Main Street, lifting the dry maple leaves off the lawn and scraping them across the gravel driveway.

Across the street, Mrs.

Gable stood by her porch light, watching our driveway through her front screen door.

Down at the corner of Elm and Maple, Julian’s silver sedan pulled away from the curb with a sharp screech of tires and turned hard toward the highway.

My credit rating was flagged with a bank fraud alert.

My father’s main bank account was down to thirty-one thousand dollars.

My family was split down the middle, with half the cousins believing Julian and the other half too ashamed to call my home phone.