He walked over, snatched the wallet off the counter, and slid the gold card deeper into the leather pocket.
“You do not need to worry about the bank accounts, I handle them.”
He kept his eyes on me as he spoke, his voice flat and perfectly even.
“I just like to know if we have enough for groceries,” I said, keeping my hands flat on the edge of the sink.
“We have exactly what we need,” he said, slipping the wallet into his back trousers pocket.
He left for work a minute later, the heavy kitchen door swinging shut behind him.
I stood in the quiet room for five minutes, listening to the drip of the kitchen faucet against the metal sink.
At two in the afternoon, I pulled my sedan into the gravel driveway of the Oakhaven Federal branch on Main Street.
A sign across the street at the gas station showed regular unleaded at two dollars and eighty cents a gallon.
I stared at the numbers on the plastic sign, then looked back at the glass double doors of the bank.
