Henry unlatched his gaze from the envelope and aimed it, at the teller. He thought back to the time he’d gone to cash his first paycheck with Al. No bulletproof glass in this bank. There was a door made of steel bars like a jail cell, only cleaner, which he assumed led to a safe. It was open. He didn’t own a gun and never wanted to, but his toolshed was stocked with all sorts of potentially menacing, life-threatening contraptions. A nail gun, hatchet, crowbar, or sledgehammer would do—why even go that far? He’d heard of bank robbers armed with much less, like a candlestick to a guard’s neck, a cell phone with a manager’s kidnapped wife on the other end, even a deposit slip with handwritten demands. Turning to leave, he used the envelope to swat away such silly fantasies, and was still flapping it haphazardly when he joined Michelle in the truck.

He loved her for not saying anything. She took his hand into hers, releasing then regripping whenever he changed gears along the way to the supermarket.

When they parked, his field of vision took a nosedive, turning the supermarket’s entrance into the precipice of a canyon. Didn’t think he could bear the bombardment of products and bargains down below. Wasn’t as brave as the other shoppers descending so casually after their empty carts.

He heard his voice shakily ask Michelle if she wouldn’t mind running in there on her own. She agreed. When he pinched a Benny out for the groceries, her face showed a blend of awe and appreciation, and he felt slightly more steadied, centered, and loved her even more. She didn’t say a word, though. Just flashed that mischievous grin of hers, the one she made whenever scheming something, but he was too tired, too emptied to ask what was lurking behind it today. She teetered over the globe of her belly, kissed him on the cheek, and took the bill.

$8,622.04

Minutes poured over Henry as if through a sieve, left him to dry, alone. Either time was lost on him, or Michelle had sprint-waddled through the entire supermarket in a flash. By the time her shopping cart came rattling up to the tailgate, the only thought he’d managed to process was that nothing short of bank robbery or a Powerball miracle could save them.

The way Michelle spent money certainly didn’t help. Looked like she was planning a banquet. In the bags he began loading into the truck bed, along with eggs, bread, hot dogs, and other staples, he spotted a fresh-baked apple pie, three porterhouse steaks, and all the fixings for her homemade mac’n’cheese. If she hadn’t pointed out the cart’s bottom rack, he would have missed the case of beer, which he set reluctantly beside the rest.

“Any change?” he asked.