Chapter 7: Mrs. Owner

On Friday at eleven, June and I stood at the leasing agent's desk while she ran the cashier's check through the machine.

"Remitter, Evan Hildebrandt," the agent read off the slip. "A friend?"

"A loan from a friend," I said. "From his wife."

"Well, it clears." She slid the lease across. "Sign here, and here, and initial each page."

I signed my name nine times.

The ninth signature was the first one that did not shake.

She handed me two keys on a plain steel ring.

"Congratulations, Ms. Morrow. The north windows are all yours."

June took my elbow outside on the sidewalk and did not say a word.

She only held it a moment longer than she needed to.

At five o'clock that evening I stood on the porch of 212 Larch Street in my navy dress with the donor list in my hand.

The chair had asked every donor to tour the half-finished house that evening, so they could come back Sunday and see what changed.

She had asked me, too, as the designer.

Shelby had said yes in an email, with three hearts.

The front door was propped open.

Inside, the rooms smelled of new drywall, and sixteen people in good coats stood around the living room holding plastic cups of wine.