Chương 8
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Denise looked tired now.
Not guilty.
Tired.
“He lost overtime at work.”
“He has a wife.”
“Shannon’s hours got cut too.”
“They have two incomes.”
“I know.”
“And Mom has one pension and apparently my credit card.”
“I know.”
“Does Dad know?”
“Yes.”
“Does Dad agree with it?”
“I don’t know.”
I stared at her.
She gave a humorless laugh.
“Fine.”
“He hates it.”
“Then why is he letting it happen?”
“You know your father.”
That answer enraged me because I did.
Dad had spent most of his life mistaking surrender for peace.
If Mom decided something strongly enough, Dad eventually developed a philosophical reason for why resistance would only make matters worse.
“Who else is she paying for?”
Denise looked toward produce.
Lydia had appeared beside the apple display.
For one strange second, I wondered whether the grocery store had become a family meeting location without my consent.
Then Lydia saw us and stopped.
Denise muttered something under her breath.
Lydia abandoned her basket near the oranges and walked over.
“Seriously?”
That was directed at Denise.
Denise lifted both hands.
“I didn’t call her.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I was thinking a lot of things.”
I looked between them.
“Why are both of you acting like there’s something I don’t know?”
Neither answered.
My stomach tightened.
“Who else is Mom paying for?”
Lydia looked at Denise.
Denise looked at Lydia.
I laughed once.
“Great.”
Lydia took a breath.
“Me.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Not now.”
Her cheeks reddened.
“Last year.”
“How much?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“How much?”
“Twelve hundred.”
“For the apartment?”
She nodded.
I already knew about that money.
Because I had given Mom fifteen hundred dollars after she told me Lydia was facing eviction.
“I gave Mom fifteen hundred.”
Lydia’s face changed.
“What?”
“I gave her fifteen hundred.”
“She gave me twelve.”
“Where did the other three hundred go?”
“I don’t know.”
Denise looked down.
That movement caught my attention.
“You know.”
“No.”
“You do.”
She rubbed her forehead.
“I think she used it for Rob.”
I felt something inside me settle.
Not break.
Settle.
The distinction mattered.
For years I had treated every family crisis as a separate emergency.
A furnace.
A doctor.
A deposit.
A tire.
A mortgage.
There was always a story attached to the money.
Always a person who needed help.
Always a reason not to ask too many questions.
Apparently Mom had been acting as the clearinghouse.
I paid her.
She paid whoever she wanted.
And when the numbers did not fit, she asked again.
“How much have I given her this year?”
Lydia looked uncomfortable.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“More than ten thousand.”
Denise shut her eyes.
That was confirmation enough.
“Does Dad know?”
“I think he knows some.”
“Some.”
Lydia reached for my arm.
I stepped back.
Her hand dropped.
“Claire, she tells different people different things.”
“What did she tell you?”
“That you offered.”
“I offered to help with your deposit.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
My voice rose.
A woman with a toddler glanced toward us.
I lowered it.
“I gave her fifteen hundred because she said you needed fifteen hundred.”
Lydia swallowed.
“She told me you only had twelve hundred.”
I looked at Denise.
“What did she tell you?”
“I’m not in this.”
“You labeled a box full of things my family destroyed.”
“I know.”
“You’re in it.”
Her jaw tightened.
“She told me you were controlling the money.”
I actually laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because for one instant my body had no other response.
“Me?”
“That’s what she said.”
“What money?”
“Family money.”
“There is no family money.”
“I know that now.”
“She said I was controlling it?”
“She said you liked people owing you.”
The grocery aisle seemed to narrow.
For years, every thank-you from my family had embarrassed me.
I had gone out of my way not to mention money after giving it.
I never asked when it would be repaid unless repayment had been specifically agreed on.
Most of the time, I did not want it back.
And apparently, behind my back, my generosity had been rewritten as leverage.
Marlo returned with Theo and a bag of apples.
She took one look at my face.
“What happened?”
“Nothing you need to deal with.”
She frowned.
“That means something happened.”
Theo held up an apple.
“This one has a butt.”
All three women looked at him.
He turned the apple around.
It did, in fact, have a deeply unfortunate crease.
Marlo snorted.
Lydia covered her mouth.
Even Denise laughed.
I did too.
For five seconds, standing beside cereal and canned beans, we were just four adults and two kids laughing at a badly shaped apple.
Then the laugh died.
The ache returned.
I put the apples in the cart.
“We’re going home.”
Lydia said, “Claire.”
I looked at her.
“Can we talk later?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s not a no.”
“It’s not a yes either.”
Denise stepped closer.
“You should check your accounts.”
“I already am.”
“All of them.”
Something in her tone stopped me.
“What does that mean?”
She hesitated.
“Your mother used to have access to more than your credit card.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“You added her to something after your divorce.”
My chest tightened.
“That was nine years ago.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“She mentioned it.”
“When?”
“Tuesday.”
The word landed heavily.
“What account?”
“I don’t know.”
“Checking?”
“She didn’t say.”
I pulled out my phone.
My hands were cold again.
Years earlier, after my divorce, Mom had helped me manage things while I was working two jobs and trying to keep Marlo out of the middle of a custody fight.
I had given her access to an old savings account because she sometimes paid bills for me.
I thought I had removed her.
Thought was suddenly not a comforting word.
“Mom.”
Marlo’s voice was quiet.
“Are we okay?”
I looked at her.
“Yes.”
May you like
I answered too quickly.
She noticed.
