“Good, because for a second I was wondering whether I could sell my half and pay my rent.”
Mara smiled.
Harlan did not.
He had noticed something.
“Your rent?”
I immediately regretted saying it.
“Nothing.”
“Rue—”
“No.”
He stopped.
I appreciated that too.
“What it means,” he continued, “is that several parts of the reopening plan require approval from the community trustee.”
“You.”
“No.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“You.”
The room became silent.
I looked at the construction plans visible through the glass.
Workers were rebuilding a theater worth more money than I could imagine.
Meanwhile, that morning, I had counted quarters to decide whether I could afford laundry.
“This is absurd.”
“It is unusual.”
“I serve pancakes.”
“So?”
“So I don’t know anything about operating a theater.”
“Neither did June when my mother met her.”
“How did they meet?”
Mara answered.
“Your mother wrote a letter to the newspaper complaining that the Meridian had raised ticket prices.”
