Marine Returns From Okinawa to Find Her Bungalow Already Sold
“I know,” I said. “Captain Vance sent me the confirmation email.”
“So it’s done,” she said. “The title is clear.”
I sprayed another section of the wall, the mist hanging in the humid air between us. “The title is clear. The bank has the rescission document, and Emily Morrison has her money back from the title insurance company.”
“And Arthur?” Sarah asked.
I kept my eyes on the wall, watching a dark drop of water run down the vertical seam of the paper. “He is in Milton. He took a one-bedroom place near the old shipyard.”
“Did he call you?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
I wedged the scraper back under the paper and pulled. A strip the size of a window pane came away in one smooth motion, revealing the old yellow paint I had applied three years before my deployment to Okinawa. It was the color of fresh straw, faded now, but still clean beneath Chad’s dark vinyl.
“We can paint over this yellow by noon,” Sarah said, reaching into the bucket for her own scraper. “The beige we got will cover it in one coat if we use the thick rollers.”
