Medicare covered all of it. I stayed under twenty days.
Thomas checked.
On the nineteenth day, I went to the bank.
Thomas drove. Daniel came. Claire, who was still in town, came too. Evelyn Carter drove in from Boston and met us in the parking lot.
First Constitution Bank & Trust is an old brick building on Farmington Avenue in West Hartford, with marble floors and a brass clock over the door. Robert and I opened our first savings account there in 1964, with forty-two dollars of wedding money.
A receptionist took us upstairs to the trust department. A tall, thin man in his sixties met us at the elevator. Gray suit. Bow tie.
“Mrs. Whitmore,” he said. “My name is Leonard Fisk. I’m a senior trust officer here. I have to tell you, I have been hoping you’d walk through that door for twelve years.”
He took us into a conference room with a long oak table and leather chairs. He’d already laid out a thick folder.
