Chương 12
“Talk to Ryan.”
He wiped the putty knife on a rag.
“I helped him with August rent.”
“I know.”
“He said it was temporary.”
“I know.”
Dad looked toward the hallway.
“I gave him six thousand in June too.”
My sandwich suddenly tasted like cardboard.
“For what?”
“He said he needed to catch up.”
“On what?”
“Cards.”
I stared at him.
“He told you about debt in June?”
“Some.”
“How much?”
“Maybe fifteen.”
I closed my eyes.
Dad sat back on his heels.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Jenna.”
I looked at him.
“He owes forty-three.”
Dad went still.
The putty knife hung loose in his hand.
“Forty-three thousand?”
“Yes.”
He lowered himself onto the floor.
“How?”
“Ask him.”
Dad stared at the fresh patch.
“I thought the six would clear most of it.”
“Apparently not.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Your mother doesn’t know about the six.”
I laughed once.
Dad looked at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Jenna.”
“This family needs a group accountant and maybe a confession booth.”
He almost smiled.
Then he looked ashamed.
“I didn’t tell Susan because she’d worry.”
“Do you hear yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
He leaned back against the wall.
“I’m starting to.”
Ryan appeared in the hallway holding the stripped screw between two fingers.
“Do you have another one of these?”
Dad looked at him.
The expression on his face made Ryan stop.
“What?”
Dad held out his hand.
“Come here.”
Ryan did not move.
“Dad.”
“Come here.”
He walked in slowly.
Dad looked up at him from the floor.
“Forty-three?”
Ryan closed his eyes.
“You told him?”
Dad answered before I could.
“She didn’t tell me everything.”
Ryan looked at me anyway.
“I told you that in private.”
“You also told me Dad knew some of it.”
“Some.”
Dad stood.
“How much of that forty-three was already there when I gave you the six?”
Ryan’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t know.”
“That is not an answer.”
I looked at Dad.
He caught it.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, what?”
“You sound like me.”
Ryan rubbed both hands over his face.
“Can we not do this in the foyer?”
Dad gestured toward the kitchen.
“Fine.”
“I didn’t mean relocate the firing squad.”
“You took six thousand dollars from me.”
“You offered.”
“Because you told me you had a temporary problem.”
“It was temporary.”
Dad stared at him.
“No, Ryan.”
His voice went quiet.
“That’s the thing.”
“It wasn’t temporary.”
Ryan looked toward the window.
Dad continued.
“You told me the cards were almost handled.”
“I thought they would be.”
“With what?”
“A commission check.”
“You got laid off.”
“After.”
“And then you hid that too.”
Ryan’s mouth tightened.
“I was embarrassed.”
Dad gave a small, humorless laugh.
“So you lied.”
“Yes.”
“To me.”
“Yes.”
“To your wife.”
“Yes.”
“To your mother.”
“Yes.”
Ryan’s voice sharpened.
“You want me to keep listing people?”
Dad stopped.
I watched something pass between them.
Not anger exactly.
Recognition.
Dad sat at the kitchen table.
Ryan remained standing.
“You learned this somewhere,” Dad said.
Ryan’s face changed.
Dad looked down at his hands.
“I’m not saying I taught you to lie.”
“Good.”
“But I taught you that problems should disappear before anyone important sees them.”
The room went still.
Ryan’s expression softened by a fraction.
Dad continued.
“When you were little, I fixed everything before your mother knew.”
“Bills.”
“Car repairs.”
“That stupid roof leak.”
“I didn’t want her to worry.”
Ryan looked at me.
I thought of Mom’s words from the night before.
Suddenly everybody’s version of protection looked like the same disease wearing different clothes.
Dad said, “Then I did it with you.”
Ryan leaned against the counter.
“You paid because you wanted to help.”
“I paid because I didn’t want to watch you fail.”
The sentence landed quietly.
Ryan looked down.
Dad rubbed one thumb across his knuckles.
“I think maybe those aren’t always the same thing.”
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
Then Ryan said, “Kelsey wants every account.”
Dad nodded.
“She should have them.”
“She wants to talk to a counselor.”
“Good.”
“She might leave me.”
Dad looked at him.
“That may happen.”
Ryan flinched.
I expected Dad to soften it.
He didn’t.
Instead he said, “You don’t get to decide what consequence is fair after deciding what truth she was allowed to have.”
I looked at him.
Dad noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking surprised when I say something sensible.”
Ryan laughed.
Dad pointed at him.
“You’re still forty-three thousand dollars in debt.”
“I know.”
“Then stop laughing.”
That made me laugh.
Dad shook his head.
“Wonderful.”
By nine thirty, Kelsey came through the back door carrying a yellow legal pad.
She looked as if she had slept maybe two hours.
Ryan straightened immediately.
Dad stood.
Kelsey stopped when she saw him.
“I didn’t know you were here.”
“I’m fixing paint.”
She glanced at the patch.
“Of course you are.”
Dad took that without complaint.
Kelsey put the legal pad on the island.
“I need Ryan.”
“I’m here.”
She looked at him.
“I made a list.”
Ryan’s face tightened.
“Okay.”
“Every account.”
He nodded.
“Every loan.”
“Yes.”
“Every automatic payment.”
“Yes.”
“Every subscription.”
He blinked.
“Subscriptions?”
“Everything.”
“Okay.”
“Anything you’ve borrowed from your parents.”
Ryan looked at Dad.
Dad looked at the floor.
Kelsey noticed.
“How much?”
Ryan hesitated.
Dad answered.
“Six thousand in June.”
Kelsey’s eyes closed.
She stood perfectly still.
When she opened them, she looked at Ryan.
“You told me that was commission.”
“I know.”
Her voice stayed calm.
“That check you deposited.”
Ryan swallowed.
“Yes.”
“That was your father’s money.”
“Yes.”
She wrote something on the legal pad.
I could not see what.
Then she asked, “Anything else?”
Ryan looked at Dad.
Dad shook his head.
Kelsey looked at me.
“No.”
“Nothing from me.”
She nodded.
“Your mother?”
Ryan said, “Not that I know of.”
Kelsey wrote again.
Then she looked at Dad.
“Does Susan know you gave him six thousand?”
“No.”
Kelsey laughed softly.
May you like
Dad looked embarrassed.
She set the pen down.
