After He Gave Her My Kitchen, I Left Him with Nothing novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Man Who Built It

At dawn Roz finds the cabinetmaker holding her pantry wall, plays his recorded call with Dean and sees an email forged in her name. Behind Dean on the recording, Dorothy says she wants the green.

At ten to six on Sunday morning, a light was already on in the window of Larkin Cabinetry.

I knew the shop from the order sheets and the invoices. I had never been inside it.

The loading door stood open, and the air smelled of cut oak.

A man in a canvas apron was fitting a strap around a tall stack of wrapped doors.

He had sawdust in his brown beard and a missing fingernail on his left thumb.

"We don't open until seven," he said.

"I'm Rosalind Fletcher," I said. "You built my kitchen."

He took off his cap.

"Eli Larkin," he said. "Then you're the one who draws the pull height in the margin."

I looked past him.

Above his bench, pinned edge to edge, were my drawings. My sections, my notes, my coffee ring on the corner of the island plan.

Nobody had ever pinned my work up for anyone to see.

"Nobody does that," he said. "I wanted to get it right."

"There's a pantry wall and a sink on your dock," I said. "They ship Monday at nine."

"They do."

"I need them held. Not canceled. Held."

He nodded and pulled out his phone.

"The order's in both your names," he said. "I can hold on yours. If he calls to push it, I have to tell him I did."

"Does he call a lot?"

"He called once." Eli turned the screen toward me.

The shipping address on the order was Dorothy's, a ranch house on the far side of the county.

"First truck went there nine days ago," he said. "The stove and the cabinets. I thought it was strange. Before it left, he sent the email."

He opened it.

It was addressed to the shop and signed Rosalind Fletcher.

I approve the change of delivery address on our kitchen order to my sister-in-law's home, as a gift to her. Please proceed.

"That isn't mine," I said.

"I figured."

"I never write my full name. I sign R. Fletcher. And I don't use that address."

It was rosalind.hale.design at a free mail service.

Dean had made an email address for me.

I read the date. It was three days before the first truck.

I made myself breathe through my nose.

"You figured," I said. "And then?"

"And then I checked the order, and the order said the change was approved." His voice stayed level. "I should have called you. I had your name and no number. I could have found one."

I looked at the bench, at the pencil lines, at the brass pull sitting on a rag.

He had known before the first truck left.

I decided not to say that yet.

"Who paid for the first truck?" I asked.

"The card saved on the supply site. Ending in 4471."

"That's my renovation account."

"Then he spent your money on it," Eli said. "Twice, counting the pantry wall."

He wiped his hands on his apron.

I watched him do it, the missing nail, the care he took with a rag and a brass pull, and then I looked at the wall instead.

I needed one thing from this man, and it was proof.

"Do you record your calls?" I said.

"On custom jobs. So nobody argues about a measurement." He hesitated. "You want to hear it."

"Yes."

He turned on a small speaker beside the bench and scrolled his phone.

The recording started with a click.

"Larkin Cabinetry, Eli."

"Dean Ames. The Fletcher kitchen. I need the delivery moved to a different address."

"The address is on the order."

"It's a gift. For my brother's widow, she's been through a lot. My wife knows."

"I'd want to hear that from her."

"She's the type who makes a scene, Mr. Larkin. I'm handling it. You'll have an email today."

Dean laughed, easy and warm.

I had been married to that laugh for five years.

"Fine," Eli's voice said. "Email it."

Dean said something about timing, and then a second voice came in from a few feet away.

It was a woman's voice, soft and pleased.

Dorothy.

"Tell him the green," she said. "I want the green."

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