Chapter 22: Stanton Signs

Stanton came up Dot's stairs at ten o'clock on the dot, in a clean shirt, holding a folder in both hands.

He stopped in the kitchen doorway and waited to be told where to sit.

"Take that chair," Dot said. "The wobbly one. It suits the occasion."

He sat.

The folder lay on the table between us.

It was thicker than I had pictured.

"I rented a place on Snelling," he said. "It's one room and a hot plate."

He rubbed his neck.

"The landlord asked for references and I didn't have any, so I gave him the pastor's number."

"Did that work?"

"The pastor said I was a man learning to be honest."

He gave a small, wrecked smile.

"I think that's the nicest thing he could find."

"What are you doing for work?"

"Service desk at a truck dealer. Eleven fifty an hour."

He turned the folder a little toward me.

"I'm bad at it. I keep apologizing to people about their oil changes."

Keir leaned in the doorway behind him, with his arms folded.

Stanton didn't turn around.

"I know you're there," he said to the table. "I'm not going to say anything about it."

"Good," said Keir.

Stanton opened the folder.

On top lay the papers, signed at the bottom in blue ink.

"They're everything your lawyer asked for," he said.

"I'm not contesting any of it. Not the house, not the truck money, not the account. I put it in writing."

"Thank you."

"Don't." He shook his head. "Don't thank me for not stealing something. That's the lowest bar there is."

I waited.