Chapter 4 - Six Twelve in the Morning
At 6:12 the next morning, a licensed repossession crew pulled onto Marilyn's street with two flatbed tow trucks and a moving team, working under a court order Aaron had secured after months of default notices went straight into the trash.
A sheriff's civil officer came to stand by and keep the peace.
By seven, Marilyn, Shane, Grant's father, and a scattering of relatives who'd shown up early for the lunch were all out on the lawn, yelling.
One van was already winched up onto a flatbed.
A second truck was backing toward the garage where the kitchen equipment was stored.
Marilyn called Grant.
He put her on speaker, right there in our kitchen. I don't think he knew what else to do.
"What did your wife do?" she screamed. The speaker crackled with it.
My mother answered from across the room, not even raising her voice.
"Nothing illegal."
"You cannot take our property!"
"Read the loan agreement you signed, Marilyn. Page four."
Silence.
Then Shane, somewhere behind her: "Tell them to stop! Make them stop!"
I picked up the phone and held it to my ear.
"Remember yesterday?" I said. "You told me I should crawl over here on my hands and knees and help the family."
"You vindictive little —"
"No," I said. "I'm four days out of surgery. I'm staying exactly where my doctor told me to stay."
Across the kitchen, Grant was staring at me like a stranger had walked in wearing his wife's face.
May you like
Then Mom slid a sealed envelope across the table toward me.
"That," she said, "is the part they're really going to hate."
