Chapter 4: The Corner House

I didn't scream at Colby that night.

The next day at lunch I went to the credit union and sat across from a loan officer.

I asked her to make the joint account need two signatures from now on.

She told me the money was already gone, and that Colby had moved it legally.

I paid my half of the mortgage from my own account and kept the receipt in my bag.

Then I went home to a house with four other people in it and no one who said hello.

At six I sat down on the front steps with a box of tissues.

The cat had gotten into every room, and my eyes had not stopped running since Sunday.

A man crossed the street toward me with a small brown box in his hands.

He was tall and broad, with sawdust on his canvas jacket and a gray streak in his beard.

On the driveway of the corner house behind him sat a half-built wooden boat on a trailer.

"Wrong address," he said, and held out the box. "The courier left it on my porch. It's got your name on it."

It was the replacement lock battery I had ordered. The label said Halvorsen.

"Thank you," I said, and sneezed.

"You're allergic," he said.

"To the cat," I said. "Which belongs to the woman living in my bedroom."

I hadn't meant to say that. It was out before I could stop it.

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