Mrs. Owens brought a list.
Folake had expected documents — receipts, maybe, or a lease, or a letter. She had the Owens file open on the table in front of her: claim, no documents yet. She had been thinking about what it means to be a witness before the documents arrive.
The list was handwritten on paper folded in thirds, the way you fold a letter. Six items. Dates and dollar amounts in careful block letters, the numbers aligned at the right margin. Mrs. Owens had prepared it. She had sat somewhere — her kitchen table, Folake thought, or maybe a desk — and written it out.
Folake looked at it for a moment before she said anything. Then she said: can I copy this down?
Yes. Mrs. Owens did not say you can keep it, or here. She said yes and held the paper flat so Folake could read it.
Folake wrote. The dates first, then the amounts. She wrote them the way she wrote everything in the Register: exactly, without editorializing. The third amount was different from what Jerome had reported. Not by much — Jerome had said four hundred, the list said three sixty. Folake wrote three sixty. The fifth amount also differed. Twenty dollars. She wrote what the list said.
She did not say: this doesn't match.
She was not sure, in that moment, what it would mean to say so. It might mean the list was wrong. It might mean Jerome was wrong. It might mean they were both right about different parts of the same event, or that memory works differently for amounts than for dates, or that someone had miscounted or rounded. She did not know which of these it was. She wrote down the numbers.
Mrs. Owens watched her write. When Folake finished the sixth entry she looked up.
Is that everything you have? she asked.
Mrs. Owens thought for a moment. I have a receipt, she said, but I can't find it right now. I know I have it.
Folake wrote: receipt reported, not yet located. She dated the line. She signed it.
That's all right, she said. If you find it, bring it in. If you don't, we document what's reachable.
Mrs. Owens looked at her. What does that mean — what's reachable?
Folake thought about how to answer. It means we write down what we can verify, she said. And we write down what we can't verify too. We just label it differently.
Mrs. Owens nodded slowly, as if she was testing the answer against something she'd expected. Then she folded the list back into thirds and put it in her bag.
She had not offered to leave it. Folake had not asked. The Register had what she had written down. That was what the Register was for.