Chapter 10: Wage Day

Greta read the RSVP card aloud, twice, in a voice like a woman tasting a wine she'd already decided was corked.

"Mrs. Anders Engdahl and guest," she said. "The nerve of that child. I'd like to frame it."

"She'll come in blue," Anders said.

"She'll come in a gown that cost somebody a month's rent," I said. "Let her."

My phone buzzed against the table.

It was the foreman.

Gate's chained, it said. Payday. Harlan's here with a padlock and a face. Bank called at six. The checks bounced.

I stood up so fast the chair went over.

"Where?" said Anders.

"The yard."

"I'll drive."

"You'll what?"

"I said I'll drive, Tilly."

He drove the Volvo himself, fast and exact, with both hands on the wheel and his eyes never leaving the road.

It was the first thing I'd seen him do in that house without a driver.

Thirty-one people stood in the gravel lot behind the chain-link with their envelopes in their hands.

None of them had cashed anything.

Some of them were holding children.

My father stood on the inside of the gate in his quilted jacket.

He had the padlock in one hand and the key in the other, and he was smiling at the crowd.

"Folks, folks," Harlan was saying. "A little accounting delay. It happens to the best of us."

"Where's the money, Dad?" I said.

Every head turned.

He didn't miss a beat.

"Honey, I'm glad you're here. I need you to sign something and then we can all go home."

"What?"

"The trustee form. You give me full authority until your thirtieth birthday, no questions. And you stay quiet about your sister till Saturday."

"Why would I stay quiet about Blair?"

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