deposit check.
She looked down at it.
Then frowned.
“Where’s the rest?”
“What rest?”
“The mixer money.”
“That wasn’t a deposit.”
“You’re actually keeping it?”
“No.”
I smiled.
“The repair shop already has it.”
Her face moved through several emotions.
Anger.
Embarrassment.
And maybe the smallest amount of respect.
She slipped the check into her pocket.
“This whole thing is ridiculous.”
“Maybe.”
“I honestly thought the mixer broke because it was old.”
“That wasn’t even what upset me most.”
She frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“You believed it broke because
