At sixty-four, I liked it that way.
I’d had enough surprises for one lifetime, and after thirty-two years in the same little suburban house, there wasn’t much left in it that could surprise me.
The number was nearly double.
That morning, I poured my coffee, opened the mail, and found out I was wrong.
Except this time, I couldn’t.
I blinked. Then I blinked again.
« That can’t be right, » I said aloud, to nobody but the cat.
The number was nearly double. Not a few dollars off. Double.
Continue on the next page:
