I reached into my purse and pulled out the checkbook, writing a check to Carl for nine hundred and fifty dollars.

My hand felt unsteady as I handed him the paper, the cost of his signature on the certified map representing three months of my grocery budget.

“You have the official seal on this map now, Joan,” Carl said, tucking the check into his flannel shirt pocket.

“If he does not like it, he can hire his own man, but they will find the same iron pin.”

I took the rolled copy of the certified survey, the paper thick and stiff in my hands, and walked across the damp grass toward Tyler’s driveway.