Marine Returns From Okinawa to Find Her Bungalow Already Sold
I did not wait for the ink to dry on the blue folder before I walked out of the conference room. Captain Vance followed me down the carpeted stairs of the professional building, his dress shoes clicking against the marble risers.
The humid morning air hit us the moment we pushed through the glass double doors of the lobby. It smelled of salt water and hot asphalt, the classic heavy heat of late September in Pensacola.
“I will file the certified rescission with the county clerk before noon,” Vance said, adjusting his cap to shield his eyes from the glare. “By tomorrow morning, the property registry will show your name as the sole owner.”
“Thank you, Captain,” I said.
“What about your father?” he asked.
“I have to go to Maggie Street,” I said.
I caught a city bus heading north toward the neighborhood where I grew up. The local transit was slow, stopping at every second corner to let passengers off into the thick coastal humidity.
