Chương 12
“Patrick did.”
“Because of work.”
“Yes.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“And Lily really has been crying.”
“Every night.”
The cruel irony of it settled slowly.
My mother had taken money from the vacation account, helped create the disappointment she later used to justify canceling Ethan’s birthday, and then framed me as selfish for refusing.
“Does Patrick know the trip was canceled because the money was gone?”
“He knows the account was short.”
“That sounds different.”
“It is.”
“What does he think happened?”
“That I overspent.”
I sat up straighter.
“You let him think that?”
Jessica did not answer.
“Jessica.”
“I told him there were expenses.”
“What expenses?”
“There were expenses.”
“That is not the same thing as transferring six thousand dollars to his mother.”
“I know.”
Her defensiveness returned.
“You don’t understand what my marriage is like when money goes wrong.”
I almost said I understood exactly what Patrick was like when anything went wrong.
Instead I kept quiet.
She continued.
“He tracks everything.”
“He should track six thousand dollars.”
“Yes.”
Her answer came hard.
“But you know how he gets.”
I did.
Patrick did not handle uncertainty well.
When frightened, he became managerial.
He demanded numbers.
Timelines.
Proof.
He asked questions like a person trying to force the world back into order through spreadsheets.
“So he blamed you.”
“He asked what I’d spent it on.”
“What did you say?”
“That I’d moved it.”
“Where?”
“I didn’t say.”
“And he accepted that?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“We fought for three days.”
A memory surfaced.
Mom had called me during that same week and said Jessica was being difficult lately.
At the time, I had nodded along.
“Did Mom know you two were fighting?”
“Yes.”
“Did she tell Patrick?”
“No.”
“Of course not.”
Jessica went silent.
Then she said, “She told me I was protecting your dad.”
There it was again.
Protection.
Every secret had been dressed up as kindness.
“Jessica, you have to tell Patrick.”
“I know.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just told me.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“You’re not my husband.”
The answer was honest enough that I almost laughed.
“No, thank God.”
She laughed once too.
Then both of us stopped because it felt disloyal to laugh in the middle of whatever this was.
“I’ll tell him tonight,” she said.
“Before he finds it some other way.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She hesitated.
“Allison?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry about yesterday.”
I leaned back.
“For coming over?”
“For acting like Ethan’s party was hurting Lily.”
I said nothing.
She continued.
“I was angry about the trip.”
“At me?”
“At everybody.”
“That sounds healthy.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re right.”
Her laugh was tired.
“I was angry at you because your life looked simpler.”
I nearly choked.
“My life?”
“I know how that sounds.”
“You mean the duplex with the broken bathroom door?”
“I said looked.”
I waited.
She spoke more quietly.
“You and Ethan fight about cereal and soccer and homework.”
“You have children too.”
“Yes.”
“But everything with us feels scheduled.”
That sounded like Patrick.
Soccer practice.
Piano.
Tutoring.
Birthday themes chosen six months ahead.
Photos taken before anyone was allowed to eat.
“I thought you looked free.”
I stared at my kitchen.
The stack of bills.
The crooked cabinet.
The balloon from yesterday tied to the back of a chair because Ethan had insisted on saving it.
“I thought you looked rich.”
Jessica laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“Maybe that’s why families are terrible.”
“What?”
“Everybody envies the version they can see.”
We hung up ten minutes later.
At two, Patrick texted me seven transfer dates.
I checked each against my banking records.
None had reached me.
Not directly.
Not through my mother.
I sent him the results one by one.
NO.
NO.
NO.
NO.
The fifth date stopped me.
October third.
Two years earlier.
$900.
Memo: ALLISON ELECTRIC + FOOD.
I searched my account.
There was a deposit from Mom on October fourth.
Two hundred dollars.
I had forgotten it.
A bad month.
Two late clients.
An electric bill I had nearly put on a credit card.
I sent Patrick the truth.
$200 came to me the next day.
His reply came quickly.
Where did the other 700 go?
I typed, I don’t know.
The answer no longer felt like weakness.
It was simply fact.
By late afternoon, the total we could identify was worse than I expected.
Patrick had sent my mother $14,600 believing all or part of it was for me.
I could confirm receiving $880 across three years.
Patrick responded with a single word.
Fuck.
I agreed silently.
At four-fifteen, Dad called again.
“Your mother came home.”
“How is she?”
“Angry.”
“Okay.”
“She says Patrick is harassing her.”
“Is he?”
“He’s sent twenty-seven messages.”
“That qualifies.”
“I told him to stop.”
“Good.”
Dad sounded relieved by my answer.
I had the sense he expected me to celebrate Patrick’s aggression as long as it pointed toward Mom.
I did not.
“What is she saying about the money?”
“That she can explain everything.”
“Has she?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She says she won’t do it while being attacked.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“It does.”
Another small shift.
Dad was learning to let sentences stay sharp.
“Did you ask about the six thousand from Jessica?”
Silence.
He had not known.
“Dad?”
“What six thousand?”
My stomach tightened.
“Jessica gave Mom six thousand dollars.”
“When?”
“Three weeks before the Disney trip was canceled.”
“For what?”
“You.”
“What?”
“She said you needed treatment.”
“I did not.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Patrick told me he already paid four thousand directly for your procedure.”
Dad swore again.
This time louder.
I heard a chair scrape.
“Where did Jessica get six thousand dollars?”
“Their vacation account.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
“Dad.”
“I have to go.”
“Wait.”
“No.”
“Do not confront her if you’re going to start screaming.”
“I’m not going to scream.”
“You screamed this morning.”
“So did everybody.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
He breathed hard into the phone.
May you like
Then, quieter, “You’re right.”
I heard him sit down again.
