The Company On The Check Had Never Owned Our Home

Miriam asked Diane for the office key before she asked another question.

"You think I'm stealing?" my sister said.

"I think this file needs to stay here."

Diane dropped the key on the desk. The little brass lantern on its ring struck the wood.

My mother had bought that key ring at a craft fair. I remembered her bringing it home in a brown bag, pleased to have found something useful for two dollars.

I couldn't stop looking at it.

"Take copies," Lena said to Miriam. "Please."

Miriam copied our application and the payment sheet. She wrote the date on both sets and signed her name. Then she called the board's secretary to come lock the originals away with her.

While we waited, Diane fetched the housing bill from the archive. Miriam copied that too.

"I can correct a filing error tomorrow," Diane said.

"You told a room full of people we bought a truck," I said.

"I saw you driving one."

"My employer lent me a service truck while my van was in the shop."

She looked toward the supper room.

"Well, appearances matter."

Lena got up slowly.

"Then you should have looked at the lease."

We took Owen home before dessert. A volunteer wrapped three pieces of cake, but he didn't open his.

At a red light, he asked, "Was Grandma's money supposed to make people mad?"

"No," I said. "It was supposed to help."

He sat quietly for the rest of the ride.

Our apartment was on the ground floor of a faded brick duplex. A small patch of gravel held two clay pots and Owen's collection of smooth rocks.

Inside, Lena put the cake in the fridge. I spread the copies across the kitchen table, leaving room for Owen's spelling sheet.

"I should have walked out sooner," I said.

"You stayed because she promised the check. So did I."

"You shouldn't have had to stand there."

She pulled out a chair.

"Then sit with me now."

We read every line.

The supposed housing bill listed our street but the wrong unit. It called the payment an advance for several months of rent and fees. Our lease allowed neither the listed fee nor that rent amount.

There was no hospital payment attached.

Lena circled the unit number with a pencil.

"Someone knew enough to make it look familiar."

I called Paul, our landlord. He came over in slippers with his rent book tucked under his arm.

"Juniper Door?" he said. "Never heard of them."

He showed us our page. We owed one month's rent. No grant had reached him.

"I'll write that down," he said.

"We still owe you," I told him.

"I know what you owe. I also know you fixed my cooler last July and waited six weeks for your money. I'll give you some time."

He wrote a statement and left a copy of our rent page.

The next morning, I took one unpaid hour off to meet Miriam. Lena stayed home with Owen, who was doing schoolwork at the table until his planned return on Monday.

Miriam had called a special board meeting for the following week. Two members were checking the fund's records together. Diane had been told to stop making payments while they worked.

"Can you get the check back?" I asked.

"First we need to know where it went."

I gave her Paul's statement.

She gave me a printout from a public company record.

Juniper Door Holdings had one manager.

Diane Mercer.

I read the name twice, looking for a middle initial that might make it somebody else.

"She owns a rental house," I said. "She told me it barely pays for itself."

"That may be this company. It still isn't your landlord."

My phone rang before I left the office.

Diane.

I answered with Miriam beside me.

"I can lend you the rent today," my sister said. "You need to stop dragging strangers into family matters."

"The board isn't strangers to its own money."

"You know how things get repeated. Think about your boy at school."

I stood up so fast my chair scraped.

Miriam touched the edge of the desk. I looked at her and sat again.

"Send anything you have in writing," I said. "I won't take a loan."

At home, I told Lena about the company.

She shut her eyes, then opened the drawer where we kept school forms.

"There's something I should have pushed harder on," she said.

Before she could explain, someone knocked.

Inez Soto stood outside holding a flat envelope. She had worked the fund's intake desk until Diane replaced her in March.

"I heard what happened at supper," she said.

She looked past me at Lena.

"I kept your yellow copy. I think you'll need it now."