Chapter 24: Due on Receipt

"Read it out," I said.

"Here?"

"You said it's the largest bill anyone ever sent you. Let the room hear."

The line had gone quiet.

The lunch lady leaned forward in her folding chair, with both hands on her cane.

Mason cleared his throat and held the page up.

"To Mason Greer," he read. "From J. Pennock. Invoice for services."

"Go on."

"One brioche, four dollars. Paid in full."

Somebody laughed.

"One lie told over coffee," he read. "Forgiven. No charge."

His voice had dropped.

"Every Sunday, in this kitchen, with flour on my cuffs, until the flour stops coming out of the wash."

"That's a long invoice," said the banker from the board.

"Shh," said the lunch lady.

"One drawer in a one-bedroom on West Twenty-fifth," Mason read. "One radiator that knocks. One man to bring a better one."

He stopped.

He took a breath and began again.

"One man who stands in a lobby with his hands at his sides, because I asked him to, for as long as I ask."

I didn't look at him.

I watched his thumb on the paper.

"And at the bottom," I said.

He turned the page.

At the bottom, in my handwriting, I had put:

Total: the rest of your life, and mine, on the same account. Due on receipt.