actor who had never agreed to appear.
Curtain in fifteen hours.
Then somebody knocked on the motel door.
Danny.
Still dressed from the potluck.
Holding a spiral notebook as if it were dangerous.
Our mother’s household ledger.
Decades of tidy columns.
The same books I watched her total at the kitchen table as a child.
Danny had found it months earlier while searching for June’s Medicare paperwork.
He’d been carrying what he discovered ever since.
He opened it to the years I had funded.
“You should see where it went,”
