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without one,” he said.
    â€œWhat happens if I don’t want a mortgage?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI mean I’d like to buy the house outright. Cash.”
    â€œIs there something you don’t like about the mortgage system?”
    â€œI want to move quickly, before I change my mind. Forget the inspection,” said Rocky. “I have money from my husband’s life insurance. This would take a massive bite out of it. . . .”
    Carlos shifted his weight. He put his clipboard on the kitchen counter.
    â€œThis is important. You’re not buying a pair of shoes here. I personally will not let you buy this place without an inspection. I don’t care if you have all the cash in your back pocket right now. You need to know if the roof is ready to cave in, if the place has termites.” Carlos paused and seemed to reconsider his approach. “I don’t know what your husband did or how he died, but you should respect his memory by doing this right. He meant for you to have life insurance money to take care of you, not for you to throw it away. I’m scheduling an inspection, and you need to chill about this.”
    It had been twenty-four hours since the girl had called her, and Rocky was well on her way to buying a house.
    Carlos was able to make things happen quickly. The heirs of the property were thrilled with Rocky’s offer and never haggled over one cent. Carlos brought in an inspector in record time. By the next day, Rocky and Carlos were in Portland, waiting for the real estate attorney to arrive so they could sign, initial, and date the final ream of documents. As they waited, Carlos filled Rocky in on his rise in the world of real estate.
    He told her that he’d grown up in a single-parent household in Brooklyn. His mother smoked crack and most of the time left the kids alone to raise themselves. “I was in Juvie Hall by the time I was twelve. All the other boys liked it there because it was the best they had ever had. That’s what turned on the light for me: I knew I didn’t want jail to be the best place I’d ever live. From that moment on, I made choices. Did I want to smoke crack with my mother and be like her? No. So I didn’t smoke crack. That first choice helped so much that I kept making other choices. Did I want to have a job other than selling drugs? Yes, since I wanted a life expectancy beyond age twenty-three. So I finished high school. Did I want my younger brothers and sisters to live in foster care? No. So I got a job and took care of them. My youngest brother goes to college now. He’s in his third year, studying criminal justice. Did I want my kids to have a father who walked out on them? No. So I had to learn to be a father, which is a lot harder than selling houses and anything else I’ve ever gone through.”
    Rocky had gradually accepted that life on the island was more personal than her life had been in the Berkshires of western Massachusetts. There was something butt-naked about the way people did business here. Once again, she was conducting a business transaction thinking that it might be an in-and-out sort of event. Now, after she’d heard about the decline and rise of Carlos’s lineage in heart-rending detail, Carlos had given her his stamp of approval on her housing choice.
    â€œNobody wants to buy real estate with bad history,” he said. “I didn’t go to college, but I can tell you that the history that happened in this house is gone and you’re getting an island house for $50,000 less than the going rate. In my old neighborhood we called that. . . .” He paused, censoring his memories. “We called that a very good deal. Congratulations.” He nodded with approval.
    A fter signing all the final documents and acquiring the keys, she hopped the first ferry back to the island and took care of business in her little cottage. Isaiah had rented it to her