She took Robert’s petition out of my envelope, laid it flat, then pulled a second copy from her drawer with one corner already folded down.

“I’ve read this four times,” she said.

“It gets worse every single time.”

“In what way?”

“It claims your grandmother signed her will on June ninth.”

“She signed it on April twenty-second.

I brought her iced tea out to the porch while she did it.” My thumb found my index finger and pressed down.

“June ninth.” Clare wrote the date on her pad and circled it two times.