He Priced Me at a Penny, So I Married Another novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Roof

Tillie's mother sides with Dean in public, Tillie takes down her quilts one by one, and her banking app shows zero.

My mother stopped in front of me and looked at the crowd, the phones and the clothesline, in that order.

Then she looked at Dean, who had put on his hurt face.

"Mrs. Dougherty," he said. "I'm so sorry you had to see this. Tillie got upset over a little prank."

"A prank," my mother repeated, and nodded.

"Mom. He listed me for one cent."

"He said it was a joke. You're embarrassing everyone, Tillie. Look at all these people."

"He told a stranger to put me in a car and keep me in line."

"Men talk like that. Your father did." She lowered her voice. "Apologize to Dean and come home, and we'll say you had a headache."

Giles didn't speak, but I felt him go still next to me.

"Who else is going to take you?" my mother said. "You're twenty-seven."

The woman who had grabbed my arm made a small sound in her throat.

I said, "Mom, I have a job and my own paycheck."

"And no house. Dean's the one who paid for our roof. Where would your mother be without that boy?"

"I paid half of that roof."

"You did not."

"The receipt is in the kitchen drawer, under the takeout menus. I wrote the second check myself. It was nine thousand dollars."

Her mouth closed.

For a second she looked uncertain, and then she looked at Dean, and I watched her decide.

She walked to the clothesline and pulled down the double wedding ring quilt, the first one, with its card still pinned to the corner.

"I'm taking this home," she said. "It'll stay on my bed until you've come to your senses."

"Put it down."

"Your grandmother never liked me, and she always liked you best. Fine. I'll keep her blanket."

She clutched it against her coat.

"Mrs. Dougherty."

It was Phyllis Archbold, who had followed us from the board.

She had her reading glasses on top of her head and her sister behind her, and she didn't sound polite.

"Tillie's grandmother put Tillie's name on every label. I've seen them. I stood next to that woman at the church bazaar when she finished the first one. Put it down."

"Phyllis, this is a family matter."

"Then you'll want it to stay in the family. It was left to Tillie."

My mother's eyes flicked around the crowd.

Every phone was pointed at her.

Slowly, she held the quilt out at arm's length and dropped it onto the grass.

Nobody picked it up.

I walked over and knelt down.

The grass had left a green stain along one edge of the ring pattern, and my eyes burned, and I picked it up and folded it.

Then I went to the clothesline and unclipped the second quilt.

Nobody had to tell me what to do. I took each one down by the corners and pulled off the card.

One cent. One cent. One cent.

The woman who had grabbed my arm came and stood next to me.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have touched you. My son is not a catch, if you want to know."

She took the fourth quilt from the line and folded it in neat thirds, her mouth set.

A girl in a market apron took the fifth.

Two men from the plant stall took the sixth and seventh.

Shelby stepped in front of the last one.

"You can't just take them. They were delivered to this event. Dean bought the movers."

"Dean," I said, "tell her to move."

Dean looked at the crowd, at the phones, at me.

"Let her have the blankets," he said. "They smell like her house anyway."

A few people groaned.

Shelby stepped aside.

I took down the eighth quilt myself, and Giles stood next to me, holding the stack in both arms, which was the most he had touched me.

We walked to his trunk.

He laid them in one at a time and smoothed each one flat.

Dean's voice followed us across the grass.

"You have until dinner, Tillie! Seven o'clock! After that I'm not asking!"

"After that," I called back, "I'm not answering."

Several people clapped.

Dean's face turned a mottled red.

My mother stood beside him with her arms crossed, and she did not look at me.

Giles opened the passenger door.

"Do you want the airport," he said, "or somewhere to sit down?"

"Somewhere to sit down. And I need my money."

"Your money?"

"My grandmother left me thirty thousand dollars. With what I saved, it's thirty-eight thousand, four hundred twelve. It's in the townhouse fund. We opened it together."

I got in and pulled out my phone, the one I'd finally gotten back.

It had forty-one notifications.

I ignored them and opened the bank app.

My thumb was shaking.

The balance of the townhouse fund read $0.00.

I scrolled to the last line.

This morning at 9:12, the full thirty-eight thousand, four hundred twelve dollars had been transferred out.

Beside the amount, the app showed a name.

Transfer to: S. Mullaney.

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