More lies. He knew where his checkbook was all along. “It’s fine.”

“You know where he lives, right, Jewelann?” Beth’s gravelly laugh grates in my ears.

Christian waves a paper rectangle at me, taking my attention. “The next part of my program hasn’t officially started yet, so I hope it’s all right that I postdated this. I won’t get paid until next week.”

My guts snarl into a knot. Who the hell postdates a check anymore? For that matter, who uses checks at all? I can’t remember the last time I cashed one, much less wrote one.

“Where did all this furniture come from?”

“Mostly Ikea.” He’s bending over, scribbling something on the check.

“So you have money for new furniture, but not the rent? Not cool, Christian.” I kick at the still-bare concrete, now partially covered by a colorful throw rug. “You’re supposed to be renovating. You don’t get rent credit for buying furniture.”

His gaze goes hard. “Some of it was in storage. And I’ve done a lot around here. More than you know. If anything, based on everything I’ve done, you owe me.”

“How … mmmuch do you need?” Beth hauls herself upright.

She is … wrecked. I’m surprised she can even get to her feet, but she does, and grabs her purse from the new chair angled next to the couch. She pulls out a leather wallet bearing a designer crest matching the handbag, and for a second, I think she’s about to tumble over right onto her face. I remember how that felt, like the world moved in slow motion, and a sickness tangles at the base of my throat. That’s what I used to look like, I think, and hot shame gurgles in my gut.

Beth rifles through the wallet and pulls out a fistful of bills. “Eight?”

Bitterness squirts into my mouth. Beth has eight hundred dollars in her hand. I’m actually salivating, Pavlovian, at the idea of what I could do with that cash.

“Ken said three,” Christian says.

I swivel to face him. “Three hundred a month for rent? That’s—”

“Crazy cheap,” Beth says at the same time Christian interrupts with “fair.”

“C’mon, Jewelann. I’m putting my sweat and labor into this place. Putting out for materials out of my own pocket. And I already told you—”

I hold up a hand to stop him. “Yeah. I know. Ken bartered.”

Beth weaves her way toward me. “Here. I have three hundred for you. Take it.”

“Bethy, you don’t need to do that,” Christian says.

Bethy. My lip curls. He calls her a pet name?

“I don’t mind.” She presses the crumpled bills into my palm, leaning much closer than is necessary. Her dangling earring tickles my cheek as she says into my ear, “Anything to help out a friend.”

I wonder which one of us she means.

When she pulls away, her earring tangles in my hair for a few seconds. She laughs while she tries to free herself, but it takes my fingers to unknot the jewelry. She takes a few of my hairs with her.