Where immediate cancellation applied, I canceled.
Where transfer procedures were required, I followed them.
For the first time in four years, every dollar scheduled to leave my bank account required my permission.
By early afternoon, I felt as though I had spent six hours cutting invisible ropes from around my body.
Ruth and I stopped for soup.
My phone rang.
Grant.
I declined it.
It rang again.
Declined.
Then Melissa.
Declined.
At 3:17, a text arrived.
WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE INTERNET?
Ruth looked over my shoulder.
“Well,” she said, stirring her tea, “apparently somebody noticed you retired.”
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
At 5:30 that evening, tires screeched outside Ruth’s house.
A silver SUV stopped hard against the curb.
Melissa jumped out.
Grant followed.
He did not knock.
He pounded.
