The final custody decree had arrived Friday, and Arthur had tucked a copy into my sideboard drawer with the car title.

The sentencing order from Monday lay beneath the sugar canister, folded into thirds.

“Grandma, the sun needs a face on it.”

“Then give it a nice one.”

She drew two dots and a broad line.

“Now it’s happy.”

I put her bowl down and dried my hands on the dish towel.

Child endangerment and attempted insurance fraud, for both of them, no parole.