“Naomi, the bank says the wire didn’t clear,” Margaret had written.

“The three thousand dollars isn’t in the joint account.

Where is it?”

I sipped my espresso and left the screen dark.

Five minutes later a second email came in, forwarded by the same server rule.

“The mortgage lender just called the house phone,” the second message said.

“They said if the draft isn’t processed by five o’clock today, there’ll be a late fee of a hundred and fifty dollars.

Please fix this right now.”