She lay awake that night, remembering what Banks had told her about his upbringing. He’d turned out very well, all things considered. She wasn’t so ashamed of the house now. He’d been shocked that she was taking care of Tad all alone. He had no idea how much the child meant to her, how full of tragedy their lives had been. That was something she didn’t intend to share.

It had been nice of him to bring them home. She’d noticed him staring at her thin sweatshirt and Tad’s jacket. He must have known that she was cold.

She felt the tickle in her chest and ground her teeth together. She’d have to take some over-the-counter cough medicine and hope that it would ward off the problem she had every fall. She’d been on the job long enough to accumulate sick time, and that was a blessing, but she didn’t want to have to use it. Cal had always made allowances for her. She wasn’t sure that Banks would, or could. She couldn’t afford to lose her job. Utilities and insurance and the mortgage had to be paid. So did heat and groceries and the medicine she couldn’t do without.

Why, oh why, she wondered, was life so hard? She closed her eyes with a sigh and dreamed about having enough money to take Tad to the movies more than once a month.

Monday was a hectic day. Banks had a problem with the printer that caused him to slip and say a very bad word, after which he threatened to shoot the helpless machine.

“You shouldn’t say bad words in the office,” Clancey chided.

He glared at her with glittery black eyes. “I have to print out a letter to the parole board about a prisoner we put in jail. It has to go out today. It wouldn’t take five minutes if this damned thing hadn’t decided to be a pain in the neck!’

She looked at it curiously. She didn’t own a printer or a computer, but she’d learned a lot about them when she worked for Cal. She’d worked with all sorts of office equipment. “It doesn’t have any ink. See?” She pointed at the digital readout on its front. “It needs new cartridges.”

“I don’t have any cartridges!” he ground out. “It came like this!” He waved his big, lean hands expressively at it. “Nobody said it would run out of ink the day after we put it on the desk!”

“It was bought in August,” she said in a calm voice, “and it’s October. Ink doesn’t last forever.”

“October.” He looked at the printer with a sigh. “So what do I do now?”

“You buy ink cartridges,” she replied. “They have them at the office supply store two blocks over, next to the barbecue joint.”

“What sort do I buy?”