The Machines Rolled Out While Customers Waited For Their Answers

The new expense line said EQUIPMENT LEASE, C. KELLEHER.

The amount was $12,600.

I read it at Alma's kitchen table on Thursday night. Under the ledger printout, she had laid three bank transfers of $4,200 each. They went to Finn's personal account.

"I never got this money," I said.

"The bank agrees with you."

"Did you enter that line?"

"It was added after he shut me out. My saved file doesn't have it."

She showed me both copies. Mara already had them. She had told us to preserve the files and let Finn answer through his lawyer.

I wanted to call him anyway. I wanted him to hear his own entry read aloud.

Instead, I put my phone face down.

"What do we know for sure?" I asked.

Alma pulled a blank sheet toward her.

"Enough to ask good questions. Not enough to invent answers."

We left it there that night.

At eight Friday morning, two movers arrived at the shop with a lift truck. I brought the signed pickup list, packing straps, and a camera.

Finn had brought Owen.

The lawyer checked the three serial numbers himself.

"Long-arm machine first," I told the movers. "Keep the head upright. The oil pan stays level."

One mover asked about a wooden drawer fastened under its stand. Finn said that ought to stay. I opened my folder and took out the delivery slip, which listed the stand and drawer with the machine. Owen read it, then nodded to the mover. Inside that drawer were two spare belts and a grease pencil worn almost to nothing. I had worried about losing the machine. Seeing Finn reach for that little drawer made me realize how much of my life he had expected to keep without asking.

I unplugged each unit and secured its loose parts. Alma checked off the stands and motors. The movers rolled them toward the door over thin boards to protect the floor.

The room changed with each trip. Without the first machine, it looked untidy. Without the second, it looked empty. Without the third, it looked like a place waiting for a business to arrive.

Finn stood beside his new sign.

"Those machines are worth less than the orders," he said.

"Then the orders deserved a better plan."

Owen touched his arm. Finn turned away.

Ruth arrived while we were securing the last stand. Beside her was Daniel Soto, who ran a small sailing school and had paid a $2,200 deposit.

They had appointments to collect their sails. Alma had made those appointments with Finn in writing.

Ruth looked at the lift truck.

"So there really isn't anyone sewing here."

"We're arranging options," Finn said.

"I asked you that yesterday. You said production was moving forward."

"It was, until this."

He pointed at me.

I held the folded pickup agreement against my leg. I had no wish to make Ruth stand through our whole dispute.

"These are my personal machines," I said. "The company had free use of them. That use has ended. Your deposit is still the company's responsibility."

"Will you finish our jobs?" Daniel asked.

"First, you need your sails and an answer about your money. Any new work would need a separate agreement after this is sorted out."

His face fell. I knew what he had hoped I would say: that I would simply stitch for free and let the money problem go away.

It was what I had almost offered.

Ruth held out her receipt to Finn.

"I'd like my $3,600 back."

"Cloth has been ordered."

"For my sail? Show me."

Finn looked toward Owen.

"We'll provide a written account," Owen said.

Alma brought out the marked sail bags. We checked each one with its owner. Ruth's old green triangle flashed as she opened the fold.

She touched it, then closed the bag.

"I don't want a speech," she said. "I want the receipt for what you say you bought."

I signed the movers' form. Finn and Owen signed the pickup list. Everybody got a copy. No one could later say a machine had disappeared in the night.

At the rented shed, I watched the machines come down the ramp. Rain rattled on the high roof. I covered each one, then sat on an upside-down bucket.

My machines were back. My bench, income, and half of a broken company were still elsewhere.

For the first time, I let myself think about selling one machine to pay bills. I hated that thought. I hated more that keeping it quiet would not make the bills smaller.

Alma arrived carrying a folder and two sandwiches.

"Eat first," she said.

"Is it bad?"

"It's clearer."

I ate slowly, with the folder unopened on my knee.

Inside the folder was Finn's written answer, sent through Owen. He called the three transfers advances against future profit.

There had been no profit to advance.

His answer also said I had approved them.