The marina road bent around the repair shed and opened into a level work apron. Kit stopped at its edge. The gate was behind them, the water and service ramp ahead to their right. A strip of concrete ran between the ramp lip and the drive. It was wide enough for a car that had nothing behind it. A battered guide post stood at the upper turn, where a vehicle cutting too close could strike it.
Walt's pickup faced the gate. The trailer stretched back toward the ramp, his boat high behind the cab. The ordinary way out crossed the open apron between him and Leah. She could see it all in one look: truck, trailer, shed, gate. Beyond the gate, a delivery van was parked in the public loading bay. Its driver stood on the walk beside it with a phone to his ear.
“That's Gordon,” Kit said.
A man in a pale sun hat stood beside the trailer holding a folder against his stomach. He was talking to Walt, pointing at something on the frame. Walt nodded without looking where he pointed.
A woman in a marina shirt drove a utility cart across the apron. She stopped beside Kit's window.
“Breakdown?”
“Meeting them,” Kit said, pointing.
“Over by the shed, then. Leave the service entrance clear.”
Kit parked on the shed side where she indicated. When she turned the engine off, she looked at Leah's hand.
“You can still drive?”
“Slowly.”
“If we need the truck, just move it. You don't have to come after me.”
Kit handed her the key and got out. Leah closed her fingers around it. The hurt hand complained at the small pressure; she transferred the key to her left. She could guide the truck if she had to. She could not pretend it was the same hand she'd left the yard with.
She climbed down from the passenger side and followed Kit toward the pickup, letting her go first.
Walt had seen them arrive. He didn't wave. He watched Kit's face, then her bag, then Leah's hand. A little satisfaction crossed his own face before he smoothed it away.
“Got yourselves straightened out?” he asked.
Gordon turned toward the new arrivals. His hat cord hung loose beneath his chin. He was a broad-shouldered man with thin wrists and a shirt tucked very neatly into his shorts. The sort of man who expected the papers in his folder to be the most complicated thing he dealt with all afternoon.
“Family?”
“More or less,” Walt said.
“Kit.” She held out her hand. “We spoke on the phone.”
“Right. Gordon.” He shifted the folder to shake. “I thought four, but we managed. Lovely day to be out here.”
The lake moved behind him in little hard flashes. A couple walked along the public fence with a stroller. A dog on the far side of the apron barked once at the utility cart and was told not to start. It was a lovely day. Leah had no complaint about the day.
Gordon pointed toward the boat. “He wanted to see how it sat behind his pickup. We moved it from the other bay. I'm not letting anything leave until we're done, though.”
“I told you I've got the money,” Walt said.
“I know. And I told you how I do it.”
He said it pleasantly, not giving Walt a quarrel to use. Leah liked him for that and immediately wished she hadn't. She was running out of strangers she could bear to know anything about.
Kit glanced through the pickup's front window. The seat was empty. No bag, no open door. A disposable coffee cup stood in the holder, the lid pushed down on one side.
Walt saw where she looked.
“Keeping this where I can see it,” he said.
He went around to the rear passenger door, on the water-facing side of the truck. He unlocked it, opened it briefly and put a hand on something inside. Leah could see the dark fabric of the bag, zipped shut against the back of the seat. Then the door closed, and he locked it again. He came back with the key in his hand.
Kit watched the little display without moving.
“You brought yours?” he asked.
She touched the bag across her body. “It's here.”
“Let me see.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“You counted it out to me. It's not changing every time you look.”
Gordon glanced between them. The folder shifted against his stomach.
“I don't know what you've arranged,” he said. “But I'm selling the boat to Mr. Dane. If there's some question about whose money—”
“It's mine,” Walt said.
He looked toward Leah as he said it. She stayed where she was.
“Then let's do that bit,” Gordon said. “Before I start giving another tour.”
He walked toward the worktable. The table was rough wood, scarred by tools and paint. He put his folder down beneath a flat piece of metal so the wind wouldn't take it. There were two plastic chairs, one broken at the back. He moved the broken one aside with his foot and took the other for himself.
Walt stayed by the pickup.
“I've already seen what I need to.”
“Good. Then it's the money and papers.”
Gordon took out reading glasses. He had spent enough time preparing this transaction that he could keep moving for a moment even when nobody followed him.
Kit went toward the table. Walt caught her eye. He stopped her with the look he had used when she was welcome in his truck, when they were both amused by something Leah had said.
Kit stopped, but only to answer him.
“Gordon needs to do it properly,” she said.
“You don't need to be in it.”
“I know. I'm here anyway.”
Leah stayed near the pickup's front. From there she could see the table, the service exit, the narrow strip beside the water. If Walt wanted out quickly, he would have to go through the same occupied space as everyone else. She could see why Rosa had remembered it. People left things where they stopped thinking. A cart beside a doorway. A trailer at a bad angle. A hand reaching across a table.
She took her hurt hand out of her pocket and flexed it. The glove in the cab would fit over the covering if she loosened the wrist.
Walt looked at it again.
“You should've kept your hands to yourself,” he said.
Leah looked up. “I should have left your keys.”
He seemed disappointed that she had given him the plain answer. There was nothing to pull against. He moved toward Gordon, leaving the pickup locked behind him.
Gordon had found the page he wanted. He laid a finger on it.
“Sixty thousand. Boat and trailer as we've discussed. I want to count it here before I put my name on anything. Not in the car, not after you leave. It's a lot of cash.”
“I know how much it is.”
“We count it here, then. Before I sign.”
He smiled, hoping to return them to the afternoon he had agreed to. Walt didn't smile back.
Kit stood at the far side of the table. She did not look toward her mother. Leah could see the tension at the base of her neck, the little movement of her fingers against her jeans. She was waiting too, though waiting had not been her assigned job before.
The marina woman came past with an empty box.
“All good, Gordon?”
“I hope so,” he said.
She laughed. “Don't sell him the broken chair.”
“I'll move it out of the way.”
She carried the box into the office. Walt watched her until she was through the door.
Leah heard her daughter draw a breath.
“Get the bag,” Kit said to him. “You wanted this. Do it.”
He turned toward her. For a second she looked frightened of what she had said. Then she stayed beside Gordon's table and let him decide whether he was still the person buying a boat.
Walt went back to the pickup. He unlocked the rear passenger door and reached inside. The bag came out in both hands. He shut the door with his hip and returned to the table, carrying the money he had refused to leave within anybody else's reach.