“Where are you going?” Raymond asked.

“Main Street,” I said.

“I need to put this check where it belongs.”

At eleven-thirty I parked Dad’s dark blue Buick LeSabre outside the First National Bank branch on Main Street.

The sky had turned overcast, and the bank parking lot smelled of wet leaves and exhaust.

I stepped up to the second teller window and handed my legal power of attorney papers and the two-hundred-twenty-dollar floral refund check to the teller behind the glass.

“I need to deposit this into my father’s primary checking account, please,” I said.