Chapter 12: What I Owe

Gerald returned the ten million dollars at five o'clock that afternoon, in two wet pieces.

I put the pieces on the counter and taped them back together with packing tape.

Then I stuck the repaired check to my fridge under the pistachio magnet.

"It's still good," Silvan said, from the doorway. "I can have the bank reissue it."

"It stays on the fridge."

"It has teeth marks."

"Then it's a documented check."

I turned around and handed him an envelope.

He looked at it.

"What is this?"

"Five hundred and six dollars and thirty-five cents."

"For what?"

"The vet, the fence and the statement. Four twelve sixty, forty-one sixty-seven, fifty-two oh eight."

I had added it four times.

"It's everything I billed you for my own dog's mistake."

"No."

"It's what it cost."

"It's not what it cost," Silvan said. "It's what Gerald cost. It was never yours to pay."

"I billed you for all of it, and I'm giving it back."

"And I'd pay it again. I loved every invoice."

"That is not how invoices work."

"It's how mine work."

I pushed the envelope against his chest.

He put both hands behind his back.

"Silvan."

"I'm not taking it."

"Take it."

"I'd rather lose Gerald."

"That is a terrible thing to say."

"I'm aware," he said. "It's a very new feeling. I'm refusing money."

I stared at him.

He was smiling at me, with his hands behind his back and a ruined check on my fridge.

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