That one landed because it was true. I had missed two weekends in a row because of work stuff. Denise was there every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.

I called the agency again that afternoon. I told them what I had found and said I wanted someone else sent out.

They said they would look into it and send a replacement by Monday.

Denise did not come back on Saturday. Mama called me that night crying. She said Denise was the only person who really listened to her anymore. I tried to tell her about the letter again but she kept saying Denise never took anything that wasn’t offered.

I drove out Sunday morning. Mama would not open the door at first. When she finally did she stayed in the kitchen and would not sit down with me.

She told me she did not need me checking on her money anymore. She said she could handle her own business from now on. Then she asked me to leave before the new aide got there.

I tried calling her again on Tuesday. She did not pick up. I left a message saying I was just worried and that was all. She never called back.

The new aide started on Monday like they promised. Mama barely talks to her according to the agency notes they send me now. I still get the bank statements every month. The checks stopped after that last batch cleared.

Last week I almost drove out again but turned around halfway there. I keep thinking about that letter from the agency and how they kept her on anyway. I also keep thinking about Mama saying Denise was the only one who showed up.

The bank still wants to know if I am going to do anything about those eleven checks.

I have not decided yet. Every time I pick up the phone to call them I remember Mama hanging up on me and I put it back down.

She always said she trusted Denise more than anyone. I guess that includes me now too.

I keep staring at the phone on my counter like it might ring on its own. The last time I called her the line clicked off before I finished saying her name. My hand was still resting on the checkbook pages, the ones with those guided signatures that felt thicker than normal paper somehow.

“You always have to make it a problem,” she told me right before that click. Her voice came through small and far away. I did not have an answer ready. The fridge hummed in the background and I could see my own reflection in the dark window over the sink.