We walked out through the back door, our shoes sinking into the damp grass.

The rain had slowed to a mist, but the air was cold.

David was standing by the door of the workshop, his hand on the padlock.

He froze when he saw us approaching.

His eyes darted from me to Rachel, and then fixed on Harold.

His jaw tightened.

“What is he doing here?” David asked, his voice sharp.

“David, please,” I said.

“We need to talk to you before you open that door.”

“I don’t have time to talk, Mom,” David said, pulling a keyring from his pocket.

“The buyer is here.”

“His name is Miller, and he has a truck.”

“He’s going to load everything up and write me a check.”

“He’s offering you pennies, David,” Rachel said, stepping forward.

“He’s offering me cash,” David snapped.

“Which is what I need.”

“Today.”

“By five o’clock, or the bank starts the foreclosure process on Monday.”

He turned the key in the padlock.

It clicked open with a heavy metallic sound.

“David,” Harold said.

His voice was not loud, but it was firm enough to make David stop.