Sea Glass_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [34]
Rowley nods slowly. “I can understand that,” he says. “You need a loan, then, Mr. Beecher?”
“Yes, I do.”
“How much?”
“I figure seven hundred will do it.”
“You got a breakdown of costs with you there, Mr. Beecher?”
“Call me Sexton if you’d like. Yes, I do.” Sexton reaches into the pocket of his jacket and takes out an envelope. “I think everything you need to know is right there,” he says, slipping the envelope across Rowley’s desk.
Rowley opens the envelope and reads. “It says here your mortgage is with the Franklin Institution for Savings?”
“That’s right,” Sexton says, his breath tight.
“They hold the deed?”
“Yes, they do.”
“You know this man’s work? This contractor?”
“Yes, I do. He’s renovating a house about a mile and a half from us. Doing a terrific job.” Sexton has seen the scaffolding on a house at the other end of the beach. He’s copied the man’s name and forged a signature on the estimate.
Rowley puts the paper down. He taps a pencil against the desk. “I don’t think this will be too much of a problem,” he says. “We can advance you the cash today and get the paperwork for a lien on the house sorted out next Monday or Tuesday.” Rowley thinks a minute. “Well, probably not Monday or Tuesday,” he adds. “Might not be until Wednesday or Thursday on account of the holiday.”
No, thinks Sexton. With any luck, it won’t be until next Wednesday or Thursday or even later. “Thank you very much, Mr. Rowley,” Sexton says. “Ken. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
“Not at all,” Rowley says, waving Sexton’s gratitude away. “My girl will get you settled on your way out.”
He refills Sexton’s glass. He holds his own up. Sexton clinks Rowley’s glass and smiles, but he’s conscious now of only one thing. He has to get out of the room. He has his sale; if he lingers, Rowley might change his mind. “I think I’d like to get that money over to the contractor this afternoon before my wife and I leave for Taft,” Sexton says. “He says he’ll get a start on our project tomorrow if I can get the money to him.”
“That so?” Rowley asks, furrowing his brow. “Over the weekend?”
Sexton blinks and instantly sees his mistake. He’s moved too fast, and if he isn’t careful, he’ll lose the deal. He makes a show of relaxing. He crosses his legs, leans back in his chair, studies his drink. He lets the silence play itself out.
“Say, did you read about that French airman yesterday?” Sexton asks. “The one who was forced down into the sea halfway across the Atlantic?”
Sexton opens the door of the Buick so fast that Honora jumps. “Gosh,” she says, sitting up straight on the navy mohair upholstery. “You startled me.”
“Oh, baby,” Sexton says. He kneels on the driver’s seat, leans over and kisses his wife so hard that he bends her neck back over the seat.
“Well,” she says when she can breathe. “I take it your appointment went okay.”
“Beautiful,” he says, twisting into his seat.
“What did you sell?” she asks.
“A Copiograph and two Eights,” he says.
“That’s wonderful,” she says.
Sexton puts the clutch in and adjusts the power lever. He pushes the starter button with his foot. Now if he can just make it to Franklin by four o’clock, he’ll be set. Norton will be waiting with the paperwork for the mortgage, Sexton now has the cash for the down payment, and with any luck, by four-thirty, he and his wife will own their own house.
Honora
When Sexton is away, Honora practices cooking. She plans a spring garden and walks to the store with a dime in her pocket to buy a dozen eggs. She darns Sexton’s socks and unravels a sweater she doesn’t like and begins an argyle vest for him that she hopes to finish before it turns too cold. She takes up yard work because she knows that he doesn’t enjoy it. She rakes years’ worth of leaves out from under the hedges and trims the bushes with a pair of clippers she found in the cellar. She tries to cut the beach roses back, but some of the thicker stalks resist the dull blades. She weeds the walkway and mows the