I had made it very clear that I couldn’t lend any money that month, because I still had to put all my money and emotional strength toward the surgery I was about to undergo, and I kept thinking my daughter-in-law would be understanding and stop there. But just a few minutes later, my phone lit up with a message from her, so cold that I was left stunned, unable to believe what had just appeared before my eyes.

She lives three houses down in a white ranch with blue shutters and a mailbox wrapped every December in an enormous red ribbon she refuses to replace, though the color has been weathered to something closer to rust. We have known each other since our children were in the same third-grade class, back when the PTA sold sheet cakes in the school cafeteria and everyone still believed there would be time later for all the things that matter. Beverly picked up on the second ring and listened without interrupting, which is one of the things I love most about her. She has never confused listening with waiting for her turn to speak.

“They really said space,” she said when I finished. “That’s the word she used?”

“That’s the word.”

“Because you couldn’t lend money before a hip surgery.”

“Yes.”

There was a short silence on the line. I could hear a cabinet closing in her kitchen, then the whistle of her kettle starting up. Finally she said, “Come over right now. I’ve got that good hazelnut coffee you like, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

I went.