Chapter 10 - Full Price
By spring, my workshop had a name painted on the window.
MORENO REPAIRS AND LEATHERWORK.
The letters were modest and slightly uneven because I'd applied them myself after watching a tutorial three times.
I shared the space with a woman who repaired shoes and a young father who made wooden picture frames after his night shift.
We split utilities and argued pleasantly about whose turn it was to sweep.
It was not the fashionable store Dominic had wanted to buy me.
It was better for me because every decision came with a price I understood and a responsibility I had chosen.
On opening day, Dominic arrived carrying the old toy airplane in a clear display box.
He asked whether I'd like to put it on a shelf.
"That belongs to you," I said.
"It belongs to the boy who kept waiting for his sister. I think he would have liked to know where to find her."
I cleared a space beside my sewing machine.
We put the plane there, then set a copy of our childhood photograph next to it.
The original stayed in my family box, where rain and customers couldn't damage it further.
Vanessa visited later in the afternoon and bought a wallet for her niece.
She paid the price marked on the tag and did not ask for a discount.
I appreciated the effort more than another speech about regret.
Evelyn did not come to the opening.
Dominic was still deciding what kind of relationship he could have with her after learning how she'd kept him from me.
He had begun counseling to work through the conflict between gratitude for the care she gave and anger at the choices she'd made.
I supported his right to take that time.
Forgiveness was not a fee we had to pay in exchange for finally knowing the truth.
Aunt Ruth sent a note and a small potted plant.
She thanked me for allowing her to tell her side without pretending it excused her silence.
I put the plant near the window.
The county review continued, and we kept a file of all correspondence for our own records.
Neither of us needed to check the status every morning anymore.
We had begun living instead of waiting for a paper to give us permission.
That evening it rained again.
Not hard, just enough to make the street shine beneath the lights.
Dominic helped me bring the sidewalk sign inside.
A customer hurried up before I could lock the door.
She was a nurse on her way home, carrying a torn canvas bag she needed for work the next day.
I took one look at the strap and told her I could fix it while she waited.
She counted her change anxiously.
"How much?"
I named the price I'd posted on my work board.
Dominic stood a few feet away, smiling.
After she left, he reached into his coat and placed five hundred dollars on the counter.
I looked at the bills.
He saw my expression and laughed.
"I know. You don't take charity."
"What are you doing?"
"Ordering fifty custom wallets for the drivers at my company's safety awards. Full price. I figured you'd want a deposit."
He slid a signed purchase order beside the money.
I read the terms carefully, including the delivery deadline.
"This is too many for next Friday," I said.
"What date works?"
"The following Wednesday."
"I'll tell purchasing."
We agreed on the details like two adults who respected each other's work.
Then he put the cash away and arranged the deposit through the business payment system, so both sides had proper records.
He picked up his coat.
"Dinner?"
"Only if we go somewhere the menu doesn't cost a week's rent."
"I know a diner."
We locked the shop and walked beneath one umbrella, bumping shoulders like we had when we were children.
At the corner he stopped.
"Sarah?"
"What?"
"I'm glad you didn't take the money that first day."
I looked up at my brother, older now, imperfect and real.
May you like
"I'm glad you stayed long enough to hear me," I said.
This time, when the light changed, we crossed the street together.
