Six Sisters and the Blue Ledger on Oak Street

the back door. “Is that the gas bill?”

I looked at the paper again, my left wrist tingling where the watch sat loose. “No, it is from the bank, but I must have read the column wrong.”

The walk to the corner of Elm Street took ten minutes.

The lobby of Millfield Savings Bank smelled of damp wool and floor wax.

Robert, the young teller who always helped continue reading …