The woman gave us the store names, store numbers, and street addresses. The dates and times were immediately after Cally’s hospital stay. If someone had stolen the card from her hospital room, this would make sense.

“Would you like me to cancel the cards now?”

We looked at each other. I was inclined to say yes.

“Hang on.” Ruth pressed the mute button.

“What are you doing?” I said, grabbing the phone from her.

“Let’s leave the cards activated. That way, if it’s Cally, we can track her and find the baby,” said Ruth.

“Is that what Ray suggested?” I asked.

“Yes, but I also thought of it,” Ruth said, unmuting the phone.

“Oh, Christ,” I said.

“Let’s leave the cards activated,” Ruth said to the woman.

“So you are now saying the card has not been stolen?” The customer service woman must have been required to ask clarifying questions like that, in case her conversation had been recorded for training purposes. Or in case the cardholder’s wife had an ulterior motive.

“We’re not sure,” said Ruth.

“Mr. Olson?” she asked. “Do you agree with that?”

I hung my head; I needed to think.

“Mr. Olson, are you there?” she asked. Perhaps she worried that Mrs. Olson had drugged me or taped my mouth shut or something.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m here.”

“May I suggest freezing the card until you can verify whether the purchases were authorized?” said the Visa woman.

“Would they be able to use the card?” I asked, lifting my head. This was an interesting option.

“No, they wouldn’t,” she said. “The account would be frozen, with the balance protected, and you could unfreeze it within the next thirty days.”

“In that case, I think we should keep the card functioning, so we can track their purchases,” I said, looking at Ruth for approval. She nodded vigorously.

“All right, but you will be responsible for those charges,” said the representative.

“I understand,” I said. Ruth smiled at me.

“I will add a note to your file reflecting this conversation. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No,” we said in unison.

“Thank you,” Ruth added.

After we hung up, we sat staring at each other across the table for a few seconds. The overhead light cast shadows that carved up our faces. Ruth stood up and gathered the stray newspapers that littered the table. Someone, possibly me, possibly the boys, had left a half-empty can of root beer on the table, and an old cereal bowl with a few swollen Cheerios floating in a few teaspoons of milk. This was one of Ruth’s pet peeves. She’d been trying to get the boys to bring their bowls to the dishwasher. I’d say they remembered about thirty percent of the time.