Sea Glass by Anita Shreve Page A

forward. “Well, actually, I’ve come here on a —”
    “Heeeey,” Rowley says, pointing a finger at Sexton. “Those Cubs, huh?”
    Sexton nods and points a finger back. “Really something.”
    “Charlie Root?” Rowley asks.
    “The best,” Sexton says. “And Rogers Hornsby?”
    “Fantastic. Say, you headed out for the weekend?”
    “As a matter of fact, yes I am,” Sexton says. “Headed for the in-laws in Taft.”
    “Where’s that?”
    “A bit north of here. Near Conway.”
    “Oh, yes,” Rowley says. “My dad used to keep a boat up there. This your last appointment?”
    Thiz your las appointment?
    “Yes,” Sexton lies.
    “Well, here, let’s start the weekend off right, then. You care for a shot of my best whiskey?”
    Sexton smiles and relaxes his shoulders. He sits back in the chair. “Thank you very kindly, Mr. Rowley. I surely would,” he says. Sexton watches the now-familiar ritual with the shot glasses and the bottle that has been squirreled away in a drawer. “My wife and I just bought a house over to Ely,” he says after his first good pull. The drink tastes like wood smoke going down. It’ll relax him for the next appointment, though he will have to remember to have a piece of gum on the way over to Franklin.
    “Didn’t know that,” Rowley says. “Congratulations. Business must be good,” he adds. Rowley has the face of a man who hardly ever goes outside. He’s thin through the chest, Sexton sees, soft through the belly.
    “Yes, it is, Mr. Rowley. I’m selling a lot of business machines.”
    “Call me Ken.”
    “Well, thank you, Ken. Actually, I’m here on a personal matter. What I wanted to talk to you about is the house. The one my wife and I just purchased. It needs a new roof and we have to upgrade all the plumbing. I’d like to get this taken care of as soon as possible.”
    “The missus wants her plumbing,” Rowley says with a slight leer.
    “She does indeed, Mr. Rowley. Ken. I’ve got a contractor lined up who’ll start on this right away, but he needs to see I’ve got the cash before he’ll go ahead with the work.”
    Rowley nods slowly. “I can understand that,” he says. “You need a loan, then, Mr. Beecher?”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “How much?”
    “I figure seven hundred will do it.”
    “You got a breakdown of costs with you there, Mr. Beecher?”
    “Call me Sexton if you’d like. Yes, I do.” Sexton reaches into the pocket of his jacket and takes out an envelope. “I think everything you need to know is right there,” he says, slipping the envelope across Rowley’s desk.
    Rowley opens the envelope and reads. “It says here your mortgage is with the Franklin Institution for Savings?”
    “That’s right,” Sexton says, his breath tight.
    “They hold the deed?”
    “Yes, they do.”
    “You know this man’s work? This contractor?”
    “Yes, I do. He’s renovating a house about a mile and a half from us. Doing a terrific job.” Sexton has seen the scaffolding on a house at the other end of the beach. He’s copied the man’s name and forged a signature on the estimate.
    Rowley puts the paper down. He taps a pencil against the desk. “I don’t think this will be too much of a problem,” he says. “We can advance you the cash today and get the paperwork for a lien on the house sorted out next Monday or Tuesday.” Rowley thinks a minute. “Well, probably not Monday or Tuesday,” he adds. “Might not be until Wednesday or Thursday on account of the holiday.”
    No, thinks Sexton. With any luck, it won’t be until next Wednesday or Thursday or even later. “Thank you very much, Mr. Rowley,” Sexton says. “Ken. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
    “Not at all,” Rowley says, waving Sexton’s gratitude away. “My girl will get you settled on your way out.”
    He refills Sexton’s glass. He holds his own up. Sexton clinks Rowley’s glass and smiles, but he’s conscious now of only one thing. He has to get out of