Arden drew a line through Veda’s first total.
“You’ve taken out three days’ fuel,” she said. “You haven’t taken out three days’ wages.”
“I know.”
“Then why is it written like this?”
Because Veda had wanted the answer to be different before Arden arrived. Because she had been able to speak clearly in the public room and had mistaken that for being ready to look at the arithmetic alone. Because a pencil made a comforting grey mark over the word impossible.
She pulled the sheet towards her. “Start again.”
They sat in the little office behind the gear shed on Thursday morning. Morrow was alongside; this time had been set aside and paid for. The fuel book, maintenance estimates and last year’s sales were spread across the table. Roscoe did not know the figures and had not been asked to know them.
The first option was more distance, keeping a…
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