Chapter 5 - An Uninvited Visitor
Two weeks before the party, on a stifling August afternoon, a knock sounded on my back screen door. It wasn't the brisk, impatient rap of Shauna or the heavy thud of Jarrett’s steel-toed boots. It was hesitant, light, and uneven.
I pushed open the door to find Burl standing on the wooden porch, holding his battered straw hat against his chest with both hands. His knuckles were stained with old walnut oil, his shoulders rounded like an old plow horse.
"Cassia," he said, looking at the floorboards between his boots. "Hope I'm not disturbing your dinner."
"Come on in, Burl. I just poured some iced tea."
He walked into the kitchen with that careful, apologetic gait he’d had ever since the furniture plant locked its gates. He sat at the edge of the kitchen chair, holding the condensation-slick glass of tea with both hands as if it might break.
"Dorene said you paid for the party pavilion," he began, his voice rough. "And the band."
"I did," I replied, sitting across from him.
He looked up, his pale blue eyes cloudy with embarrassment. "Cassia... I didn't know how to say this to you. But I went through our joint account last week. For the mortgage. Dorene told me Jarrett’s business was having a record year, and that he was giving us a family stipend so we wouldn't lose the place while my pension appeal went through."
I stayed quiet, letting the kitchen clock fill the pause.
"The envelopes Easton brings over," Burl continued, his hands trembling slightly against the glass. "They had your name on them, Cassia. Not the business. CH. And yesterday, Dorene was bragging on the phone to her sister that Jarrett was using his mother-in-law’s old architectural license to pull permits and bill out consulting so we could keep the roof over our heads."
He set the glass down with a soft thump and covered his face with his calloused hands. "She thinks it’s clever. She thinks getting over on you is some kind of victory because you went to night school and built a career while she stayed home. But it ain't right. I worked thirty-one years at that plant, Cassia. I never took a dime that didn't belong to me. If keeping my house means stealing from Orin’s widow, I'd rather sleep in my truck."
The knot that had been sitting in my chest for weeks loosened just a fraction. Burl hadn't known. He was a decent man trapped inside a house built on his wife's bitter pride and his son's moral rot.
"Burl," I said softly, reaching across the table to lay my hand over his scarred wrist. "Did you sign any papers? Any tax documents, any loan applications with Drury Hardscape?"
He shook his head violently. "No. Dorene handles all the bank mail. She won't let me touch the statements. Says I don't understand modern banking."
"Listen to me carefully," I said, leaning in. "On September twelfth, I want you to wear your best Sunday suit. I want you to come to Gentry Park, sit next to Easton, and eat your plate of barbecue. Whatever happens that afternoon, you do not speak, and you do not apologize. Do you understand me?"
May you like
He looked into my eyes, searching for anger, but finding only cold, deliberate clarity. "Cassia... what are they doing to you?"
"They're finding out what happens when the porch lady stops holding up the roof," I told him. "Drink your tea, Burl. It’s going to be a long September."
