Three credits.
$126.
$126.
$126.
Received on exactly the dates shown on Louise’s bank statements.
The money had never disappeared.
It had simply gone somewhere the front screen did not look.
Susan said:
“We’re transferring these payments to 170.”
“Then correcting all fees.”
She entered the request.
A supervisor authorization window appeared.
Susan approved it.
The balance changed.
$428.17 DUE.
Then:
$0.00.
Then a second line:
CREDIT $126.00.
Louise frowned.
“What’s that?”
Susan checked.
“You paid September early.”
Louise stared.
Tom, standing behind her, laughed.
“You were so delinquent you paid ahead.”
Louise looked at him.
“I told you.”
“I know.”
For the first time that day, she smiled.
Susan printed the corrected statement.
She signed it.
Megan signed as witness.
Then Susan handed it to Louise.
“Keep this.”
“I’m also emailing and mailing copies.”
Louise folded it carefully.
Susan continued.
“We’ll install a new lock at no cost.”
Louise looked at Harold’s broken lock inside her purse.
“No.”
Susan paused.
“I’ll buy one.”
“Mrs. Harrison, the facility damaged your lock.”
“I know.”
“Then let us replace it.”
Louise thought.
“All right.”
“But I want to choose it.”
Susan smiled.
“Fair.”
They returned to the unit.
Mike had removed every auction label.
One box had been rolled onto the cart before the dispute escalated.
He carried it back inside.
Louise immediately recognized where it belonged.
“Left wall.”
“Third stack.”
“Bottom?”
“No.”
“Second.”
Mike placed it carefully.
Louise stepped inside.
For the first time since arriving, nobody stopped her.
Dust floated in the beam of sunlight entering through the open door.
She walked to the trunk.
Her hand rested on the lid.
Tom remained outside.
Susan too.
Louise opened it.
The cedar smell came first.
Harold had lined the interior himself.
Inside were folded blankets.
Letters tied with cotton string.
A wooden box containing photographs.
A yellowed envelope from 1973.
Their marriage certificate.
Two baby shoes.
Harold’s old leather work apron.
Louise touched it.
Then sat on the edge of the trunk.
Her face crumpled.
Tom looked away to give her privacy.
Susan stepped backward.
Louise pressed Harold’s apron against her chest.
“I told myself these were only things.”
No one answered.
Louise looked at Tom.
“But this trunk is where he still feels close to me.”
Tom nodded.
“I understand.”
“I thought I was going to lose the last place that still felt like him.”
“You didn’t.”
Louise looked at him.
“No.”
“Because you listened.”
Tom shook his head.
“You fought long enough for somebody to finally listen.”
She smiled through tears.
“Then I’m glad the person who listened was you.”
Tom looked embarrassed.
“That makes one of us.”
Louise laughed.
Susan handed her a tissue.