Chương 8
The twenty-seven thousand four hundred.
The ten thousand Brooke thought had been borrowed.
The remaining amount she did not know was gone.
One sentence from me could have blown open every lie in the room.
My anger wanted that.
Something colder stopped me.
The missing money was Brooke’s information to confront first.
Not Marjorie’s.
“Nothing,” I said.
My mother released a breath behind me.
Marjorie did not sound convinced.
“If there’s something that affects Garrett financially—”
“I think Brooke needs to talk to him.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“I don’t mean it that way.”
“You might.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“I’m trying not to make things worse.”
“I appreciate that.”
It was the first kindness I had heard all morning.
It almost undid me.
Marjorie lowered her voice.
“For what it’s worth, I would never have agreed to exclude you.”
I swallowed.
“Thank you.”
“And I certainly would not have allowed anyone to call my daughter a distant relative at her sister’s wedding.”
My mother heard that.
I knew because her face went white.
“I should let you go,” Marjorie said.
“Marjorie.”
“Yes?”
“Please don’t pay any of the vendor invoices yet.”
Another silence.
“Were you expecting us to?”
“No.”
“Good.”
There was steel in her voice now.
“I don’t pay bills I didn’t agree to.”
I nearly laughed.
Maybe that was why Mom found her intimidating.
Marjorie sounded like the version of me my family had spent years trying to sand down.
“I’ll speak to Garrett,” she said.
“Okay.”
“And Athena?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry you flew all that way to be treated like that.”
My throat tightened.
“Thank you.”
After the call ended, nobody spoke for several seconds.
Then Mom said, “Why would you bring up Brooke’s money?”
“I didn’t.”
“You almost did.”
“Because you stole it.”
“We borrowed it.”
“Without telling her the amount.”
“We were going to replace it.”
“With what?”
Dad stood.
“That’s enough.”
I turned toward him.
“No, it isn’t.”
He looked tired now.
Not theatrically tired.
Actually tired.
His shirt was wrinkled, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
For a second I saw the man who used to fall asleep in his recliner after roofing jobs, sunburned and smelling like tar.
That memory made my anger less simple.
It did not make him less responsible.
“How bad is the business?” I asked.
He looked at Mom.
She said, “Don’t.”
I kept my eyes on him.
“How bad?”
Dad walked to the sink.
He turned on the faucet, rinsed a clean mug, then turned the water off.
It was something he did when he needed time.
“We lost two crews last winter.”
“Why?”
“One foreman started his own company.”
“And the other?”
“He took three guys with him.”
I waited.
Dad dried the mug with a dish towel.
“Then Henderson Development delayed payment on a commercial job.”
“How much?”
“Forty-three thousand.”
“Do they owe you?”
“They disputed part of the work.”
“So maybe.”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
That was more honest than I expected.
“And payroll?”
“Covered now.”
“With Brooke’s money.”
His jaw moved.
“Yes.”
Mom stepped between us as if the admission itself required defense.
“People would have lost their jobs.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I understand exactly what you’re saying.”
“We had men with families depending on us.”
“And Brooke was depending on the money being in her account.”
“She wasn’t buying a house tomorrow.”
“You didn’t know that.”
“She told me they were waiting until next year.”
“So that made it yours?”
Mom’s eyes flashed.
“You have no idea what it’s like to have people depend on you.”
I stared at her.
Then I laughed.
It came out before I could stop it.
Dad closed his eyes.
Mom’s face hardened.
“That’s funny to you?”
“No.”
I pressed my lips together.
“No, Mom.”
I looked around the kitchen.
At the bills.
At Dad’s legal pad.
At the wedding flowers dying in the next room.
“You have spent my entire adult life depending on me.”
Her expression shifted.
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re our daughter.”
There it was again.
The word appeared only when it came with an invoice.
I picked up my purse.
Mom moved toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To my hotel.”
“We’re not finished.”
“I am for today.”
“What about the vendors?”
“They’ll invoice me.”
“And then?”
“And then I’ll forward the balances to you.”
Mom stared at me.
“You know we can’t pay them.”
“That doesn’t make them mine.”
“You signed.”
“Yes.”
The word hurt because it was true.
Legally and practically, I had made myself vulnerable.
Emotionally, I had done worse.
I had handed them proof that they could always push one more burden across the table.
Dad spoke quietly.
“What are you going to do if we can’t pay?”
I looked at him.
“I don’t know yet.”
That answer bothered Mom more than a threat would have.
“Athena, you cannot destroy this family over money.”
I opened the front door.
“I didn’t spend the money.”
“You’re punishing Brooke.”
“I haven’t done anything to Brooke.”
“You’re about to.”
I stopped.
“What does that mean?”
Mom’s face changed again.
Not guilt this time.
Fear.
Dad stepped toward her.
“Diane.”
She ignored him.
“If Garrett finds out about the house fund right now, he might leave her.”
I stared at her.
“They got married yesterday.”
“Exactly.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“She’s already upset.”
“Does Brooke know you spent almost all of it?”
Mom folded her arms.
“She knows we borrowed money.”
“Ten thousand.”
Her eyes moved toward Dad.
He did not help.
I felt my stomach tighten.
“What else doesn’t she know?”
“Athena.”
“What else?”
Dad came closer.
“Maybe you should sit down.”
“No.”
Mom said nothing.
I looked between them.
The silence became physical.
“What did you do?”
Dad rubbed his jaw.
“The account wasn’t only Brooke’s.”
I frowned.
“You said it was her house fund.”
“It was.”
“What does that mean?”
“She kept some money with us.”
May you like
“Why?”
“Because we opened the account when she was younger.”
