Brent came out of the kitchen with an open bottle of sports drink.

He stopped under the hallway arch and rapped his knuckles twice on the wooden frame.

“You need to deal with the water company before Friday,” he said, taking a long swallow from the bottle.

“This bill is three months past due,” I said, holding the pink paper up between us.

“I send Mom three thousand dollars on the first of every month specifically so the household accounts stay up to date.”

“I don’t handle the banking, Naomi,” Brent said, rapping his knuckles on the wood again.