“They’re the reason,” the realtor, a woman named Pat with hair the color of ash, had warned her. “Every buyer loves the bones. Then they see the windows. Single-pane. Leaky as sieves. And to replace them? A custom fabricator in Oregon quoted forty thousand. For steel. In this economy.”
“That’s the point.”
The next morning, Paul knocked. “Heard you had a fight,” he said. He held out a coffee mug. Then he nodded toward the parlor. “That old girl didn’t give?” steel windows highland park