I woke before sunrise on the day Tideglass's revised deadline expired.
My bank guarantee sat on the kitchen table. The appraisal was beside it, and the examiner's report lay open to the final paragraph. The word inconclusive looked too small to contain what it had done to my family.
At eight, I drove to the yard.
Willa was already there. The new Tideglass offer was on the counter, along with the version of the bank loan I had signed. Two employees were in the workshop, speaking quietly over a stack of repair orders.
"What did you decide?" I asked.
"I haven't signed anything."
"Do you want to?"
She took the chair behind the counter. "I want to be allowed to stop carrying it."
"I can carry part of it."
"You can carry a signature."
"I can work here."
"For how long?"
"I don't know
