Ruth had coffee waiting.
My phone had forty-two messages.
They were almost comical.
Where are Noah’s soccer socks?
The dog threw up.
Did you move Grant’s gray shirts?
Noah says he needs poster board today.
How do you reset the dishwasher?
Call me.
This has gone too far.
We can forget yesterday if you come back before noon.
I was halfway through my coffee when Ruth glanced at her calendar.
Then she frowned.
“What date do your automatic bills come out?”
I looked at her.
“The sixteenth.”
She pointed to the calendar.
It was the fifteenth.
My stomach tightened.
For years, several of their household services had been connected directly to my checking account.
Grant always had an excuse.
His company reimbursement was delayed.
Their credit card had been compromised.
