I’m finished reading it out loud.”

After she left, I put a pot of water on, made tea in the mug, and drank it standing up as if I had somewhere to be, which I didn’t.

The county envelope was still under the salt shaker.

I opened it at the table with a butter knife.

A copy of the deed.

The tax card.

And one paragraph telling the owner that the property line at the back fence was four inches off the plat, a survey issue from nineteen eighty-one, no action needed.

Four inches.