Darlene thought for a moment. Slowly, carefully, she unlocked the door and opened it a crack. She’d braced herself, prepared to slam the door shut if he tried to rush in, but, standing before her, the man seemed neither as big as before nor as threatening. He looked perfectly ordinary, in fact, although perhaps a bit rougher than his refined accent would indicate.

Cautiously, she opened the door wider. “What exactly are you offering me?”

“Zero percent interest,” he promised. “You go out, find a house, we finance it for you, and you pay no interest on the loan whatsoever.”

“I still wouldn’t have enough for the monthly payments.” She gestured behind her toward the trailer’s interior. “This is all I can afford.”

“What if you got a raise? An extra two hundred a month?”

She laughed harshly. “That’s never going to happen.”

His eyes met hers, and the laughter died in her throat. “Let the bank take care of that.”

She felt the way she had when she’d first seen him standing in the darkness outside the trailer. Goosebumps arose on her arms. She glanced protectively toward Tiffany.

“Ed won’t give me—” she began.

“He will,” the man promised, holding her gaze. There was a significant pause. “Are you in?”

“I can’t—”

“Are you in?” There was an insistence in his voice that made her feel frightened.

Darlene nodded meekly.

The man backed down the rickety wooden steps. “Then come into the bank tomorrow and sign the paperwork.” He made a pistol of his thumb and forefinger, pointing it at Tiffany, hiding behind her. “You, little girl, are soon going to have your very own room in your very own house. Aren’t you lucky?” He smiled at her.

Tiffany didn’t reply but retreated further into the trailer, holding the Dory pillow in front of her face.

Darlene closed the door.

2

Kirk Halpin pulled into the Burger King drive-thru behind a Dodge Ram pickup so wide that it barely fit in the narrow lane, and from his shirt pocket withdrew the folded scrap of paper on which he’d written everyone’s order. Jean, he remembered, wanted a salad, but the others’ preferences were a jumble of hamburgers with or without various condiments that he couldn’t have possibly committed to memory. He himself wanted a chicken sandwich, but he wasn’t sure which one, which was why he’d volunteered for the lunch run today. It would give him time to peruse the menu and make a decision.