Chapter 6: The Boiler

Arlo read the notice twice.

Then he pulled it off the door, folded it in four and put it in his shirt pocket.

"Ninety days," Marigold said. "Is that a lot?"

"It's three months, bug."

"Is three months a lot?"

He didn't answer. He picked her up, even though she was too big for it, and carried her inside.

I stayed on the step looking at the tape marks on the glass.

Damon had signed it on a Monday. The date was printed under his name.

The Monday before my wedding.

He'd kissed me on the forehead that night and told me the dress would be perfect.

"You know them?"

Arlo was in the doorway. I hadn't heard him come back.

"I know the logo."

"Everybody knows the logo. They've been circling this pier for a year. Bought up the lots on both sides. Now the bank's sold them my loan."

He rubbed his scarred hand with his thumb.

"Doesn't matter. Go to bed, Noelle. Breakfast is at six. Nobody comes, but it's at six."

I lay on the cot that night and listened to the water under the floor.

I should have told him then.

I was too tired to watch his face change.

Day three.

I turned my phone on at five in the morning.

Thirty-one missed calls. Fourteen from my mother. Nine from Damon. Five from Saffron. Three from a number I didn't know.

The news alerts stacked up under them.

Penhurst Holdings down eighteen percent. Kessington Global down thirteen. Analysts baffled.

I scrolled past all of it.

One line was left on my notepad.

Second Grade Pictures.

Saffron and I named it at my kitchen table when we were twenty-one, drinking boxed wine out of coffee mugs.

She had a script and no money. I had a last name that banks trusted.

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