Chương 4
Nobody had mentioned that he had never asked me for money.
“Christmas was Mom ambushing both of us,” I said.
“You screamed at her.”
“I said, ‘Stop spending other people’s money.’”
“You said it loudly.”
“She was shouting.”
“So you shouted back.”
“Yes.”
Brooke looked toward the driveway.
“That’s what you do, Mara.”
“What?”
“You wait until you’re right enough to be cruel.”
The sentence found its mark.
I hated her for that.
Mostly because part of me recognized it.
I glanced at Harris, who was speaking to Cheryl near the porch.
“You banned me from a family reunion.”
“I was trying to keep one weekend peaceful.”
“At my house.”
“You keep saying that like I knew.”
“You know now.”
Brooke rubbed beneath one eye, careful not to disturb her makeup.
“So what happens?”
“You leave.”
“I mean after this.”
“I don’t know.”
She nodded once.
That answer seemed to frighten her more than anger would have.
Mom called her name from the SUV.
Brooke started away, then turned back.
“Did you buy this place because of us?”
The question surprised me.
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you tell anyone?”
I looked at the dusty-blue siding.
A year earlier, after a promotion and the sale of stock I had held longer than was probably sensible, I had wanted one thing that nobody in my family had an opinion about.
I had not hidden the house as revenge.
I had hidden it because telling them would have turned ownership into committee business.
Mom would have discussed rental income.
Brooke would have planned weekends.
Dad would have offered to repair things that were not broken.
Kyle would have asked where I kept the fishing rods.
I had wanted a place where silence belonged to me.
“I liked having something that stayed mine after I told people about it,” I said.
Brooke looked down.
“That’s sad.”
“It was peaceful.”
“That might be sadder.”
She walked away before I could decide whether I wanted to answer.
Within fifteen minutes, the driveway emptied except for Mom and Dad’s SUV.
Dad stood beside the passenger door.
Mom remained on the shell path.
“I want to speak to my daughter without an audience.”
Harris looked at me.
I nodded.
He moved toward his vehicle but stayed within sight.
Mom waited until he was far enough away.
Then she removed her straw hat.
Her hair was flattened underneath, gray roots visible along the part.
For the first time all afternoon, she looked her age.
“Elise is in trouble,” she said.
“What kind?”
“Financial.”
“And?”
“I was helping her.”
“With what?”
Mom looked past me toward the house.
“She made a mistake.”
My phone vibrated again.
The unknown number had sent another message.
This one contained no photograph.
Check the management statements from February through June.
Especially cleaning charges on weekends when the house was empty.
I read it twice.
Then I looked at Mom.
She had seen enough of my face to know something had changed.
“What is it?”
I opened the property management portal.
My thumb felt suddenly clumsy against the screen.
February.
March.
April.
May.
June.
There were cleaning charges I remembered paying.
There were also several I did not.
Turnover cleaning.
Emergency linen service.
Guest preparation.
Post-stay inspection.
Dates when I had been in Atlanta and the house had supposedly been vacant.
The amounts were small enough that I had never questioned them individually.
Together, they were not small.
I looked toward the driveway where my relatives’ tires had left pale tracks through the crushed shells.
“Mom.”
She closed her eyes.
That scared me more than anything she had done all afternoon.
“How many times have you used my house?”
Mom opened her eyes but did not answer.
Dad stopped with one hand on the SUV door.
He had been pretending not to listen.
Now he turned fully toward us.
“How many times?” I asked again.
Mom pressed the straw hat against her stomach.
“Linda,” Dad said.
She flinched at his tone.
“It wasn’t like that.”
I laughed once because apparently my body had decided that was what terror sounded like now.
“What was it like?”
“Elise had access.”
“That is not an answer.”
“She said the house was rarely occupied.”
“It is my house.”
“I know that.”
“No, you knew it was available.”
“That’s not fair.”
There was the phrase again.
I looked at Dad.
His face had gone pale around the mouth.
“Did you know?” I asked.
“No.”
Mom swung toward him.
“Don’t stand there acting innocent.”
“I asked if I knew about this.”
“You knew we stayed here in March.”
Dad stared at her.
“You told me it belonged to your friend from church.”
Mom said nothing.
I felt something cold move through me despite the heat.
“March?”
Dad rubbed his jaw.
“It was one night.”
“Who was here?”
“Your mother and me.”
Mom cut in quickly.
“We had a wedding in Brunswick.”
“You stayed here?”
Dad nodded reluctantly.
I checked the statements again.
A cleaning charge had posted on March seventeenth.
Guest preparation on March fifteenth.
The wedding had apparently been worth four hundred and eighty-six dollars in fees billed to me.
“Any other time?” I asked.
Dad looked at Mom.
That look answered enough.
“Linda.”
Mom shifted her weight.
“The women’s weekend.”
“What women’s weekend?”
She looked annoyed now, which was almost comforting because fear on my mother had been harder to process.
“Cheryl, Denise, Marlene, me.”
“You brought four people here?”
“It was two nights.”
“When?”
“April.”
Another set of charges.
Two cleaning fees.
A linen service.
A maintenance call for a clogged disposal.
I had paid every one.
I zoomed in on the invoice.
The maintenance company had written probable food debris and grease accumulation.
Elise had forwarded it to me with a note saying spring renters were hard on kitchen plumbing.
There had been no renters that week.
My hand started shaking again.
May you like
“How many times?”
Mom looked toward the road as though a more convenient daughter might appear there.
