Sycamore Row - John Grisham

When Calvin was gone, Herschel said, “So, Lettie, I figure we owe you for eighteen
hours, at five bucks each, right?”
“Whatever you say.”
He was writing a check as he stood by the counter. “Ninety dollars,” he mumbled with
a frown, still wanting to gripe over her excessive pay. He signed it, tore it out, handed it
over, and said, “There you are,” as if it were a gift.
“Thank you.”
“Thanks, Lettie, for taking care of Dad and the house and everything. I know this is
not easy.”
Firmly, she said, “I understand.”
“The way things go, I’m sure we’ll never see you again, but I just want you to know
how much we appreciate what you did for our dad.”
Such a load of crap, Lettie thought, but she said, “Thank you.” Her eyes were watering
as she folded the check.
After an awkward pause, he said, “Well, Lettie, I’d like for you to leave now so I can
lock up.”
“Yes sir.”