Evelyn followed right behind me and perched on the edge of the sofa cushion.

She smoothed the fabric of her slacks and reached into her front pocket.

She took out a crisp slip of paper with a perforated top edge.

“I know you’ve got expenses right now,” Evelyn said.

She held the slip of paper out toward me.

It was a personal check written on her own checking account, made out to me for one hundred dollars.

I studied the blue ink signature on the bottom line.