Chapter 7: What the Money Bought

I read the screen twice.

I looked at the wire for ninety-one thousand dollars, and at the line that said Final Anchor.

I looked at my wife's swollen eyes.

Then I handed the phone back, turned to Travis, and said, "Leave."

"Ethan, the signing is at ten."

"There's no signing."

"There is if she wants you here tomorrow."

I heard Susie catch her breath.

I did not take my eyes off him.

"Say that louder," I said. "For the street."

Travis looked at the neighbor, who had stopped pretending to rake, and at Susie's phone, still raised.

His smile came back.

"I'll be at the office until noon, Audrey," he said. "After that, I can't promise the price."

He got in his silver sedan and backed out slowly.

Susie started down the steps.

"Audrey. What did he mean, here tomorrow?"

"Susie, go inside," Audrey said. "Please. Give us an hour."

"Not until you tell me..."

"An hour."

Susie looked at her face, and at mine, and went in.

The screen door shut behind her.

Audrey stood with her back to me, her shoulders very straight.

"Kitchen," she said.

We sat at the table with the coffee going cold between us.

She laid her phone flat on the wood and could not seem to look up.

"Six months in," she said, "I was looking for a stapler in your desk."

"Audrey."

"Let me say it. Please. I found a notebook in the bottom drawer. A black one with a rubber band."

I closed my eyes.

I had kept it for three years, hidden under tax files.

I had written in it every night: what I did, what she said, whether the number went up.

"I thought it was a story," she said. "Then I read the last page."

She took a breath.

"It said: *Day 183. She laughed at my joke. Plus one.* And under it, you had drawn a little chart, with a deadline."

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