Paper Pusher

Gramma Sal passed pages across the bar, delicate-like so as not to disturb Barry.  She knew well enough that quick movements were apt to spook him.  She knew this was his sole reason for making his way to the Fallon House this morning, farewells and final assignments masking his mission.  Fancy, crisp pages with fancy wrting trumped by even fancier words.  In triplicate no less.  

Barry felt no need to wade through the legal mumbo-jumbo: he knew exactly what he was getting into, and out of.  Less a deal with the Devil than a part with the past, there would be no better day than today to sign his life away.  Breaking free from the prison in which his family plot had housed him would loose the chains of ghosts that long haunted him.

Gramma Sal kept her watchful gaze upon him.  Expectant, yes, but with the careful consideration of a finely chosen hat.  Well worn, and sturdy, and the right hat for the right job.  Gramma Sal wore plenty of them as school matron.  She could not have gotten this far in life without her particular sense of style.

And Barry knew her intent was on the up-and-up, had known it would be, even before he brought the prospecting to her attentions.  She was up-and-front with him as well.  Fast friends with his mother and father, Gramma Sal had nothing up utmost respect for them, and the resourcefulness to achieve their ideals. Mentoring their only child had already seen to that.  Her further tutelage would benefit them all for future generations.