I slipped the small paper receipt from the boutique under my thigh, smoothing my skirt over it as he walked into the room.
“Is the electric bill in there?” he asked, adjusting his collar.
“Yes,” I said, holding out the white sheet but keeping the envelope flat on my lap. “It’s about the same as last month.”
He took the paper, squinting at the numbers before folding it and putting it in his shirt pocket.
“We need to watch the spending this month,” he said, his eyes lingering on my lap. “I saw a charge from some boutique on the bank app yesterday.”
I held my breath, waiting to see if he would ask for the name on the receipt.
“It was just some gifts for the kids,” I said, looking down at my hands.
“Right,” he said, turning toward the kitchen. “Just make sure we aren’t buying things we can’t afford to show off.”
The paper receipt felt hot against my skin under the fabric of my skirt. I waited until I heard the kitchen faucet run before I pulled the receipt out and tucked it deep inside my old leather purse.
In the afternoon, I went out to the front porch to sweep the dried oak leaves off the steps. The air was cool, but the sun was bright enough to make me squint as I worked the broom into the corners.
Mrs. Gable, my neighbor from across the gravel driveway, was leaning against her mailbox, watching the yellow school bus pass. She was sixty-eight, with silver hair kept tight in a bun, and she always wore a blue cardigan even in the early autumn heat.
“You’re turning fifty next week, aren’t you, Elena?” she called out, walking over to the edge of my lawn.
“On the twelfth,” I said, resting my hands on top of the broom handle.
“Are the kids taking you somewhere nice?”
