dere begge signerer dette.” Cynthia rynket pannen. “Hva er det?” “En bekreftelse på at sluttsaldoen er ubetalt og at du avslår betalingen.” Robert rakte ut hånden. “Er det alt?” “Det er det.” Han skannet de første linjene. Ikke alle. Så signerte. Cynthia så knapt på siden. Hun signerte under ham. Bestefar hentet dokumentet. Cynthia rakte ham pennen. “Ser du?” Hun hørtes nesten fornøyd ut med seg selv. “Det var mye enklere enn å gjøre dette stygt.” Bestefar så på henne. “Ja, frue.” Så dro han. Da han ringte meg fra lastebilen sin, forventet jeg at han skulle bli rasende. Det var han ikke. Det bekymret meg mer. “Hva signerte de?” “En anerkjennelse.” “Av hva?” “At de ikke betaler meg.” “Er det alt?” En pause. “Not exactly.” “What else?” “You’ll see.”
“Grandpa.” “I’m driving.” Then he hung up. He came home that evening in a strangely good mood. Snow started falling around sunset. Our porch lights were glowing. A wreath hung crookedly on the front door because Grandpa had been promising for two weeks to straighten it and never had. Inside, the Christmas-tree lights reflected against the kitchen windows. I was waiting with pizza because I assumed he would be too angry to cook. Grandpa walked in carrying the brown folder. Set it on the counter. Removed his work jacket. Opened the refrigerator. And took out a beer. I stared at him. “How are you not furious?” “Oh, I’m furious.” “You don’t look furious.” He leaned against the counter. “Being furious and being stupid aren’t the same thing.” “What does that mean?” He opened the beer.
“Means I didn’t need to argue.” My eyes moved toward the brown folder. “What did they sign?” Grandpa smiled. “Exactly what I needed them to sign.” I folded my arms. “You’re enjoying this too much.” “A little.” “Are you suing them?” “Maybe.” “That doesn’t sound like you.” “Probably because I’m not starting there.” I waited. Grandpa took a drink. Then looked toward the Christmas tree. “Tomorrow morning,” he said, “they’re going to understand exactly why I needed their signatures.” I knew that was all I was getting. At 7:46 the next morning, my phone rang. I was still in bed. Outside, it was dark. Grandpa’s name appeared on the screen. I answered immediately. “What happened?” “Morning.” “Grandpa.” “I’m at the Whitmores’.” I sat upright. “Why?” “Need to finish something.”
“You finished the job.” “Not this part.” I could hear a truck idling somewhere behind him. Then another voice. Male. Not Robert. “Who’s with you?” Grandpa told me. I stopped moving. “You’re serious?” “Yep.” “They agreed to that?” “They signed the document.” I threw back the blankets. “Don’t do anything until I get there.” Grandpa laughed. “You think you’re in charge now?” “I’m coming.” “Drive slow. Roads are slick.” I pulled on jeans, boots, and my winter coat. Fifteen minutes later, I was driving through light snow toward the Whitmore house. When I turned onto their private road, I spotted Grandpa’s truck immediately. It was parked near the garage. Beside it sat another vehicle. A white work truck. Two men stood beside Grandpa. One I recognized from town. The other wore a dark winter coat and carried a clipboard.
Robert Whitmore stood on the front porch wearing pajama pants, winter boots, and a cashmere coat thrown over a T-shirt. He looked furious. Cynthia stood behind him. Christmas lights covered the house. Their enormous tree glowed through the front windows. I parked. The moment I stepped out, Robert pointed toward Grandpa. “This man is not entering my house.” Grandpa remained calm. The man holding the clipboard looked toward Robert. “Sir, we’re not here to argue.” “What exactly are you here for?” Grandpa reached into his coat. He removed the document Robert and Cynthia had signed the previous afternoon. Then handed it to the man beside him. The man read from it. “Confirmation of unpaid final balance.” Robert rolled his eyes. “Yes. We already know that.” The man continued. “Written acknowledgment that payment is being refused despite completed and accepted work.” Cynthia folded her arms. “So?” He turned the page. “And acknowledgment that the contractor may pursue the remedies available under the original agreement and applicable law.” Robert’s expression shifted. “What remedies?” Grandpa looked at him. “The ones you didn’t bother reading.” Robert stared. “You mean a lien?” Grandpa nodded. “That’s one of them.” Cynthia laughed. “A lien takes time.” “Usually.” “So why are you here?” Grandpa looked past her. Through the open doorway. Toward the cabinets. The shelving. The window bench. Then back at Cynthia. “You remember yesterday when you said everything was already installed?” Her expression tightened. “Yes.” “And you said it wasn’t like I could take it back.” Robert stepped forward. “Frank.” Bestefar løftet en hånd. “Ingen diskusjon.” Så gestikulerte han mot mannen ved siden
