“Certified,” she said.

“You have to sign.”

The return address was Onondaga Savings Bank.

I signed her sheet, and she tore off the carbon and gave me my copy, and she said, “Cold one today,” and I said, “It is,” and she went back down the steps.

Inside the envelope was a single page.

Account audit notification.

Estate checking.

The closing balance listed at the bottom was forty-one dollars and twelve cents.

I stood on the porch holding the paper, and the November air came through my cardigan.

I had written checks from that account for the electric bill on Monday.

I had made the monthly transfer to the hydrangea fund my mother started and I kept going out of habit.

The number didn’t change.

Forty-one dollars and twelve cents.

I went inside, got my coat and Lucas’s old ledger from the hall closet, the green one with the cracked spine, and sat in the car in the bank lot at a quarter past one with the engine off, because I couldn’t make myself go in yet.