Chapter 20: Her Own Debt

At six on Saturday morning there was somebody in the yard scraping the hull of a sailboat.

I stood at the kitchen window of our house with a cup of coffee and watched her do it.

She was in old overalls of my mother's, with a bandanna over her hair and the bandage still on her hand.

The scraper was too big for her, and she was using both arms.

My mother came in and stood beside me and looked out too.

"She was here when I unlocked," she said. "I told her I couldn't pay her."

"What did she say?"

"She said she wasn't asking for pay. She asked which boat was the worst."

"And?"

"I gave her the old green sloop. It hasn't been touched since fall. It's full of barnacles and spite."

I put the cup down.

"I said she wasn't coming," I said.

"You said she wasn't coming to Seattle."

My mother took a piece of toast off my plate.

"You didn't say anything about my yard."

I went out the back door.

The gravel was cold through my shoes.

Sadie heard me coming and didn't stop scraping.

"Good morning," she said, to the hull.

"What are you doing?"

"Working off a debt." A curl of green paint dropped and she kicked it aside.

"I know it isn't the right debt. It's the one I can reach."

"I told you not to come."

"You told me not to come to Seattle." She finally turned around, with paint flakes in her eyelashes.

"This is my town. My mother resigns as chair on Monday, and I live three doors from here."

"So?"

"So I might as well be useful."

"I'm not asking you to do this."

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