She asked whether I’d called the utility company to report an error on my credit card.

She wanted to know what time the three-thousand-dollar transfer into the joint account would clear.

I bit into a warm buttered roll and chewed slowly, listening to the city waking up around me.

Two blocks off, a yellow streetcar clattered down the iron tracks, ringing its bell once at the corner.

I didn’t touch the screen to call her back.

I didn’t look at the joint account ledger to see whether she’d put anything else in.