I looked down at the space between the seats.

The blue bank check lay exactly where he’d left it.

I didn’t touch the paper my father had left behind.

I backed out of the driveway and left the blue check lying right where he’d put it.

For the next seven days I drove around Oak Creek with that slip of paper sitting between my cup holders.

Its edges curled up from the heat of the floor vents.

The signature line faced the roof.