carefully. He stood there behind the counter in his starched shirt and his robin’s-egg tie. He looked like a little boy who’d broken a window with a baseball.
Ezoic
He looked down at my license, still sitting on his side of the glass.
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He picked it up. He slid it back to me.
Then he picked up my forty-dollar check from the Methodist church.
Ezoic
“I’ll cash this for you, Mrs. Whitaker,” he said quietly.
I looked at the check in his hand.
“No,” I said. “Thank you.”
He blinked.
“I’ll wait for






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