Chương 10
"Oh."
He hesitated.
"Rebecca deposited some money."
"How much?"
"Twenty-five hundred."
"For what?"
"To open the account."
My stomach turned again.
"So she contributed twenty-five hundred dollars and became joint owner of more than one hundred eighty thousand."
"It wasn't like that."
"Legally, what was it like?"
"She wasn't going to keep any of it."
"You trusted her with my money."
"Our money."
I almost screamed.
Instead I lowered my voice.
"Do not touch that account."
"Fine."
"Do not move one dollar."
"Okay."
"Do not let Rebecca withdraw anything."
"She won't."
"That is not reassurance."
"She doesn't even have a debit card."
"Does she have online access?"
He paused.
"Yes."
I shut my eyes.
"Mark."
"She hasn't touched anything."
"How do you know?"
"Because I can see the account."
"And she can see it too."
"Yes."
I ended the call before anger made me careless.
At ten fifteen, Ethan came downstairs.
He found me printing statements at the desk.
"What's all that?"
"Financial paperwork."
He leaned against the wall.
"Bad?"
I looked at him.
He looked older than he had that morning.
Maybe because I was finally seeing him inside the damage instead of around it.
"Complicated."
He made a face.
"That's adult problems with better branding."
I almost smiled.
"Fair."
He looked at the pages.
"Did Dad steal money?"
The question was so direct that I flinched.
"I don't know."
"How do you not know?"
"Because money can be moved without legally disappearing."
"That sounds like stealing with paperwork."
"Sometimes paperwork is the difference between stealing and not stealing."
He folded his arms.
"That's depressing."
"Very."
He hesitated.
"Can we lose the house?"
"No one is losing anything tonight."
"That's not what I asked."
I took a breath.
"I don't know yet."
He nodded slowly.
Then he walked to the kitchen.
I heard the refrigerator open.
"There's no milk."
"There was milk yesterday."
"I drank it."
"Then there was milk."
He opened a cabinet.
"Can I make ramen?"
"It is ten thirty."
"So?"
"So you'll regret it."
"Future Ethan's problem."
"Future Ethan is already dealing with enough."
He went quiet.
I wished I could take the sentence back.
Then he said, "That was dark."
"Sorry."
"It was also kind of funny."
I laughed despite everything.
He made the ramen.
The smell of artificial chicken seasoning filled the kitchen while financial statements dried on the printer tray.
That ordinary smell almost broke me.
At eleven, Sophie came down in pajama pants covered with tiny penguins.
She looked from me to Ethan.
"Why is everyone awake?"
"Family collapse," Ethan said.
I shot him a look.
"What?"
He lifted his hands.
"Too much?"
"Much."
Sophie opened the refrigerator.
"There's no milk."
Ethan pointed at himself.
"My fault."
She stared at him.
"You drank all of it?"
"I contain multitudes."
"You contain milk."
For a second, they were just themselves.
Then Sophie's eyes landed on the papers.
Her face changed.
"Is Dad in trouble?"
I put the documents face down.
"Your dad and I are dealing with money issues."
"Because of Rebecca?"
"Some of them."
She climbed onto the stool beside Ethan.
"Is she rich?"
"No idea."
"She dresses rich."
Ethan snorted.
"What does that even mean?"
"Her boots cost like three hundred dollars."
"You know that how?"
"I looked them up."
"Why?"
"Because Audrey wanted them."
I listened to them argue about whether expensive boots qualified someone as rich.
The conversation had absolutely nothing to do with the disaster on the desk.
I let it continue.
At midnight, after both kids finally went upstairs, I received another email.
This one was not from Mark.
It was from Rebecca.
The subject line contained only my name.
I stared at it for a full minute before opening it.
Laura, I know you have every reason not to believe anything I say.
Mark told me tonight that you know about the account.
There is something about that money he has not told you.
I stopped reading.
My pulse jumped.
The next line was short.
The additional deposit was not mine.
I scrolled.
The $2,500 came from Mark's business expense reimbursement account, and he asked me to say it was mine because the bank wanted an initial contribution from the second account holder.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
Rebecca continued.
I should never have agreed.
I am not asking you to forgive me.
I am telling you because I am no longer willing to be part of financial documents that are not accurate.
There was an attachment.
A screenshot of a text exchange.
Mark had written, Just tell them the opening deposit came from you.
Rebecca had replied, Is that okay if it didn't?
Mark had answered, It's fine, it's just documentation.
My hands turned cold.
The final paragraph of her email was different.
More personal.
There is something else you need to know before you assume I understood the whole plan.
Mark told me you had agreed to separate in September.
He said you wanted to move closer to Nashville after Christmas and that the house arrangement was already being negotiated through attorneys.
I stared at the screen.
For the first time since the church photograph, Rebecca was no longer standing neatly on the opposite side of the story.
I read the email again.
Then I noticed the timestamp on the screenshot.
September 18.
Three days before Mark and I had driven to Chattanooga for our anniversary weekend.
For a long time, I sat with my hands flat on the desk and stared at the date.
September 18.
On September 21, Mark had driven us two hours southeast because he said we needed time away from work, church, school forms, and the ordinary clutter that had been swallowing us.
We had eaten dinner beside the Tennessee River.
He had ordered bourbon.
I had ordered trout because he always teased me for choosing the safest thing on the menu.
May you like
Afterward, we walked back to the hotel holding hands.
I remembered that because the sidewalk had been uneven, and Mark had squeezed my fingers when I nearly caught my heel in a crack.
