Chapter 22: The Closing

Mara's POV

"My father put the building in my name for tax reasons," the bride said. "He never asked me. I found out from a letter."

She stood at my counter with her leather folder open, and her husband stood behind her holding her coat.

"Harbor Reach Holdings is mine on paper," she said. "He's the manager. I'm the owner."

"Why are you telling me?"

"Because you fixed my dress with picture wire, and you didn't send a bill."

"I wrote it in a book."

"Then I owe you one bride," she said. "I'd like to pay it."

I stared at her.

"The price in October was a hundred and forty thousand. That's what I'll take."

"I'd like to sign it over on Saturday, at noon, in front of the shop."

"Why in front of the shop?"

"Because he lied to me about my own name," she said. "And I'd like him to watch."

On Saturday it snowed a little, the first of the year.

By eleven, half of Fleet Street was on the sidewalk.

June had told the butcher, who told the florist, who told the baker.

The baker brought a tray of rolls, and nobody asked why.

My sister stood next to me in her good coat and held my hand hard enough to hurt.

"If you throw up," she said, "do it on the left. The right is the good sidewalk."

"I'm not going to throw up."

"You're green."

A gray car pulled up at the curb at ten to twelve. Cain got out of the front seat.

I had asked him not to come.

I had asked on Thursday, standing at the register.

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