The metal mail slot in the front door rattled with a sharp, heavy clack that made us all freeze.
I walked down the short, narrow hallway before the letter could even settle on the linoleum. It was a long white envelope with the return address of Grant’s real estate firm printed in raised blue ink. My fingers tore the paper flap too quickly, ripping the corner.
Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded in thirds. There was no check, only a printed copy of a bank transaction screen showing a processing error code in bold red letters.
“Is it there?” June asked from the kitchen doorway.
I held up the empty envelope, my throat dry.
“He says the bank had a system glitch,” I said.
June smoothed her cardigan over her lap as she sat back down, her face tightening.
“A glitch does not buy a gallon of milk,” she said.
“I have the lunch shift today,” I said, looking at the clock on the wall. “I will ask him about it when he stops by the waterfront.”
Eli dropped his spoon, the plastic clattering against his empty bowl.
“Are we going to the library after school?” he asked.
“Not today, Eli,” I said, putting the empty envelope on the counter. “Today we have to stick to the schedule.”
The lunch rush at the waterfront cafe always smelled of toasted paninis and vinegar from the chowder bowls. At eleven, the bell above the door chimed, and Grant walked in, brushing a speck of imaginary dust from his dark tailored wool coat. He did not look like a man whose bank accounts suffered from system glitches.
I waited until I had finished wiping down the mahogany counter near the register before I stepped up to him. He was already checking his gold watch, his thumb rubbing the polished bezel.
