Chương 5
“I don’t keep a ledger.”
“I do.”
That shut her up.
Dad stepped away from the SUV.
“What else?”
She turned on him.
“Please do not interrogate me in front of her.”
“In front of her?”
He pointed toward me.
“It’s her damn house.”
Mom’s face changed.
Dad rarely swore at her.
He swore at lawn equipment, television referees, and once at a raccoon that had gotten into the garage.
Not at people.
“Richard.”
“No.”
His voice remained low.
That made it worse.
“No, Linda.”
She stared at him.
He had said no to her before.
I was sure of that.
I had simply never seen it.
Dad looked at me.
“I swear to you, I thought March was a favor from somebody she knew.”
I believed him, which created a different kind of pain.
Believing Dad meant Mom had lied to him too.
I turned the phone toward her.
“February through June.”
She glanced at the screen.
“Those charges don’t prove anything.”
“No.”
I locked the phone.
“But you do.”
Harris was still near his patrol vehicle.
He could probably see our body language, but the distance gave us the illusion of privacy.
Mom lowered her voice.
“Elise was desperate.”
“For what?”
“She had medical bills.”
I waited.
Mom hated silence unless she controlled it.
“She got behind on things.”
“What things?”
“Mortgage, cards, I don’t know.”
“So you helped her by stealing from me?”
“I did not steal from you.”
“You used my property without permission and let me pay the expenses.”
“I never touched your money.”
“You made me spend it.”
“It was cleaning.”
I stared at her.
She heard herself then.
Her mouth closed.
Dad walked several steps away and stood facing the dunes.
He put his hands on his hips.
Mom rubbed the edge of her hat brim between two fingers.
“Elise didn’t charge us anything.”
“That is supposed to help?”
“She was using the management system to cover the turnovers.”
“With my money.”
“She said the company would absorb some of it.”
“She lied.”
Mom swallowed.
“How do you know?”
“Because it was on my owner statements.”
For the first time, genuine surprise crossed her face.
“Elise told me those charges went against the management side.”
“Then Elise lied to you too.”
Mom sat down on the porch bench.
The movement was so sudden that I almost reached for her.
I stopped myself.
She stared at the shells beneath her sandals.
“She said nobody was being hurt.”
I looked at the house behind us.
Through the front windows I could see my sofa, the marble island, the edge of the dining table I had spent three months deciding not to buy before buying it anyway.
Nobody was being hurt.
It was the kind of sentence people used when the hurt had been arranged neatly enough to stay out of sight.
“Who else stayed here?”
Mom said nothing.
“Mom.”
“Sometimes people needed somewhere.”
My stomach dropped.
“What people?”
“Friends.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know how many people you brought into my house?”
“I was not here every time.”
Dad turned around.
“What does that mean?”
Mom looked at him, then away.
“What does that mean, Linda?”
“Elise asked if I knew people who might want to use the place occasionally.”
I had trouble processing the sentence.
“Use it how?”
“She had expenses.”
“Did people pay her?”
Mom’s silence answered.
Dad whispered, “Jesus.”
I stepped backward.
The porch railing hit the back of my hip.
“Did you take money?”
“No.”
That answer came quickly.
Too quickly.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Did Elise?”
“I assume so.”
“You assume so.”
“She said she could offer it cheaper than hotels.”
The beach house seemed to change shape around me.
Not physically.
It simply stopped feeling private.
I imagined strangers opening drawers.
Sleeping in my bed.
Using the towels I folded the same ridiculous way every time.
Leaving greasy pans in the sink.
Standing barefoot on the deck while I sat in Atlanta believing the place was empty.
I had bought the house because I wanted one location in the world where nobody entered unless I invited them.
My own mother had turned it into an unauthorized side business.
“How did they get in?”
“Elise made codes.”
“Temporary codes?”
“I think so.”
“Names.”
“What?”
“Give me names.”
“Mara.”
“Names.”
Mom looked toward Harris.
“I’m not doing this out here.”
“Then we can do it with him.”
Her expression hardened.
“You would involve police against your own mother?”
“I called police because twelve people were inside my house.”
“You knew they were family.”
“I knew they were people who had been told I was specifically not allowed to know where they were.”
“That message was Brooke’s decision.”
I almost admired the speed.
It had taken less than an hour for Mom to begin relocating responsibility.
“Brooke didn’t get the code.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“Yes.”
“From Elise.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew Elise was giving access to people who paid her.”
Mom stood.
“I knew she was trying to survive.”
“So that makes my house available?”
“You have more than you need.”
The sentence was quiet.
Dad closed his eyes.
There it was.
Not the excuse.
The belief beneath the excuse.
I felt the old argument settle into place, familiar as a chair at the family table.
I had more.
Therefore, taking from me counted differently.
Money I saved was unused money.
Space I kept private was wasted space.
An empty bedroom became selfishness if someone else wanted it.
“You think that because I can afford something, you get to decide how much of it belongs to me.”
“I did not say that.”
“You never have to.”
Mom’s eyes flashed.
“You have always kept score.”
“I learned from you.”
“That is exactly what Brooke means.”
The words struck cleanly.
I took a breath.
“You don’t get to use Brooke as a witness every time you want to hurt me.”
“I’m not hurting you.”
I looked at her.
May you like
She stopped.
Dad came back toward the porch.
