The Library Table Turned His Charges Into Rows He Could Not Explain

“Seven thousand eighty dollars,” I said.

Selma pulled a chair up to the library table.

“Does it become more correct when you say it slowly?”

“It becomes more frightening.”

“Then let's make it boring.”

We spread out the papers. Perry's counterclaim joined the old $2,280 utility demand to the $4,800 removal charge he had threatened at the gate.

The wording had changed. The numbers had not.

He now said the $4,800 covered harm to his yard, loss of a fixed workshop, and cleanup. His attached photograph showed a pale rectangle in the gravel where my front step had rested.

“Gravel saw daylight,” Selma said. “Alert the newspapers.”

I laughed for the first time that morning.

Mara had asked him for bills, photographs, repair estimates, and records supporting his claims. As those papers arrived over the next two weeks, we matched each one to a date.

There was no paid repair bill for the drive. His cleanup estimate had been typed before the move. It listed two workers removing a structure, though our photographs showed the bus leaving whole.

The utility pages showed charges for the entire old church property. He had divided none of them between tenants. More to the point, our lease included my use of water and power.

“We don't need to call him names,” Mara told me. “We need to show what he agreed to and what he did.”

She sent our records to him too. There would be no secret pile pulled from my bag at the hearing.

I built my own list of losses. The tow and disconnection bill was $640. Repair materials were $186. The canceled Doss job would have paid $360, with $31 in supplies, leaving $329 in lost income.

I did not charge Perry for every bad night's sleep.

“Put down what you can support,” Mara said. “Then support it.”

My old deposit added $425. The rental agreement required its return after I removed my things, less documented damage. The deadline passed without a refund or a proper damage account.

Mara's reduced total fee for the case would be $1,580. Her invoice showed the $900 already paid and $680 still due. Filing and service had cost $140.

The six lines totaled $3,300.

It was much smaller than the number Perry wanted from me. It was also real.

Meanwhile, I worked.

At the new yard, I set the damaged Bibles between clean boards and finished the repairs with the owners' permission. I kept the torn pieces in labeled bags for the case.

Mrs. Bell came on a Wednesday. She traced the firm new hinge with one finger.

“You kept the fern?”

I showed her its folded tissue sleeve.

“My sister put that in there after Mama's funeral.”

She paid her balance and took the Bible home in both arms. I asked before using any picture from her order on my opening notice.

“The cover only,” she said.

“The cover only.”

The equipment board confirmed that Perry's listing had been removed. I kept the saved copy for court, with the private family pages covered in the copies we used outside the case.

Silas called to tell me Perry had returned his $1,400 after receiving his written demand.

“He's calling it a favor,” Silas said.

“Keep your bank record.”

“Already printed it.”

Selma would have approved.

On Saturday, she helped me plan an open workshop afternoon. Lenora offered the old laundry room for a beginner class. We settled on six seats at $25 each, paper and thread included.

“No rare books in the first class,” I said. “We'll make blank ones.”

“People deserve room to make mistakes,” Selma said.

I laid out the tiny practice bindings as examples. The yellow one had a crooked spine. I decided to leave it crooked.

By the fourth week, all nine Bibles had gone back to their owners. Mrs. Doss sent a picture of hers at the family gathering, finished by the binder she had found. I thanked her and saved it with her return receipt.

That evening, Mara forwarded a settlement offer from Perry.

He would drop his $7,080 claim if I dropped mine, signed a statement saying the removal had been voluntary, and agreed never to discuss the dispute.

“Do I have to answer tonight?” I asked.

“No.”

I looked around my bus. My lamp worked. My tools sat in order. A new customer had left a cookbook with a cracked spine.

“Please tell him no,” I said.

The next morning, a thick envelope arrived from Mara. It held our hearing exhibits, numbered and ready, with Perry's signed sale receipt on top.