Marine Returns From Okinawa to Find Her Bungalow Already Sold
He stopped flipping the lighter, his fingers freezing on the metal casing.
“That money is already gone,” he said. “And you cannot squeeze blood from a stone.”
“You spent it on poker,” I said.
He took a step toward me, his slow drawl turning sharp.
“You think you are so special with your ribbons and your stripes,” he said. “But you have nothing left in this town, Maria. Dad hates you. I hate you. And your house belongs to a holding company.”
“The law is on my side, Chad,” I said.
“The law does not live here,” he said, gesturing to the quiet street. “We do.”
He climbed into his car and slammed the door, the engine roaring to life before he pulled away from the curb.
I went back to the room at the Crestview Motel. The room smelled of carpet cleaner and cold air conditioning.
I sat on the edge of the double bed, looking at my service alpha uniform hanging from the plastic hanger on the wall. The green wool looked sharp and clean against the faded floral wallpaper.
