Chương 8
“That doesn’t mean they eat anything.”
“Then I’ll ask them.”
He started toward the door.
She caught his sleeve.
“Jason.”
He stopped but did not look at her hand.
“Please.”
He gently removed her fingers.
“I need to get them out of here.”
Sophie was already opening the van door when he reached it.
She stepped out first.
Even through the glass, I could see the question on her face.
Jason bent down and said something to her.
She looked toward me.
I lifted one hand.
Sophie did not wave back.
That hurt more than I expected.
Then she climbed into the rear seat.
Jason drove away with all four children.
Melissa stood in the lobby watching until the van disappeared.
When she turned back, her eyes were dry.
“I bought things.”
I waited.
“That’s where some of the money went.”
“What things?”
“House stuff.”
“You were renting.”
“I know.”
“What house stuff?”
She sat again.
“A dining table.”
I stared at her.
“We already had one, but it was falling apart.”
Jason had complained about that table at Thanksgiving.
One chair leaned against the wall because a leg had split.
“How much was the new one?”
“Twenty-two hundred.”
“For a table?”
“And chairs.”
“That is still a table.”
“It was on sale.”
I almost laughed.
Her face hardened.
“Don’t.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“You think everything I do is ridiculous.”
“No.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I think spending twenty-two hundred dollars on a dining set while telling Mom you’re about to be evicted is ridiculous.”
“It wasn’t only the table.”
“What else?”
She looked at her hands.
“A sofa.”
“How much?”
“Three.”
“Three hundred?”
She looked at me.
I closed my eyes.
“Three thousand.”
“It was a sectional.”
“That does not improve the sentence.”
“There were mattresses for the boys.”
“How much?”
“About sixteen hundred.”
I did the numbers slowly.
“That still leaves money.”
“I paid cards.”
“How much?”
“Two thousand.”
“And?”
“Some clothes.”
“Melissa.”
“School stuff.”
“It was June.”
“They needed things.”
“For September?”
“Sales happen in June too.”
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.
I was getting angry in the way I hated most.
Not hot.
Precise.
My voice changed when that happened.
It became the voice I used at work when someone had submitted the same unsupported claim three times.
“How much is left from Mom’s twelve thousand?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing.”
“And you still have eleven thousand in credit-card debt.”
“Yes.”
“And twenty-eight hundred in savings.”
“Yes.”
“And you canceled a townhouse because paying the deposit would reduce that savings.”
“Yes.”
I looked at her.
“So the plan was to move here for free, keep the twenty-eight hundred, hide the cards from Jason, and rebuild your finances before spring.”
Her shoulders tightened.
“When you put it that way—”
“How else should I put it?”
She stood.
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“You turn people into numbers.”
I felt that one.
She knew exactly where to aim.
“You think because your spreadsheets balance, people should too.”
“That has nothing to do with this.”
“It has everything to do with this.”
“You tried to move into my house without permission.”
“Because I was desperate.”
“Then say desperate.”
“I am saying it.”
“No, you’re saying family and Mom approved and I have space and you’re between places.”
Her mouth trembled.
“Fine.”
She pressed both hands over her face for a second.
“Fine.”
When she lowered them, she looked smaller.
“I was desperate.”
The words did not fix anything.
They did change something.
I sat down across from her.
“How long have the cards been bad?”
“Since last winter.”
“Why?”
“Everything.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She gave me a tired look.
“Groceries went up.”
“So did everyone’s.”
“I know.”
“Jason’s hours were cut.”
“Yes.”
“The kids’ stuff.”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
She looked away.
I waited.
Finally she said, “I got stupid.”
“With what?”
“Buying things.”
I said nothing.
“Not crazy things.”
She immediately corrected herself.
“Some crazy things.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know.”
“I stopped adding it.”
That sentence bothered me more than a number would have.
Melissa added everything.
She knew the price of gas at three stations near her house.
She knew which grocery store had chicken breasts cheaper on Tuesdays.
She once returned a toaster because another store had lowered the price by seventeen dollars.
“What happened?”
She rubbed her thumb across a fingernail.
“I got tired of everything feeling temporary.”
I did not understand.
She saw that.
“The apartment.”
She looked toward the windows.
“The furniture.”
“Jason’s hours.”
“The kids needing things.”
“Mom calling because she was lonely.”
“Every month there was some stupid calculation.”
“Can we do this?”
“Can we wait?”
“Can we repair it?”
“Can we use the old one?”
“Can we put it on the card until Friday?”
Her voice had grown softer with each question.
“One day I bought a lamp because I liked it.”
I stared at her.
“A lamp.”
“It was eighty dollars.”
“That isn’t nine thousand.”
“I know.”
“Then?”
“Then I bought curtains.”
She gave a small embarrassed laugh.
“We didn’t even need curtains.”
“What else?”
“Shoes.”
“Kitchen stuff.”
“A stupid espresso machine.”
“How stupid?”
“Six hundred dollars.”
I winced.
“I know.”
“At least you know.”
“There was a weekend in Portland with the girls from work.”
“Jason knew about that.”
“He thought Kim paid for the hotel with points.”
“She didn’t?”
“No.”
“How much?”
“About twelve hundred total.”
I looked away.
Outside, a city bus stopped at the corner.
Two people got off.
One ran across the street before the light changed.
The ordinary movement of the morning made Melissa’s confession feel stranger.
“You didn’t spend because you had nothing,” I said.
She looked at me.
“You spent because buying things made you feel like you had something.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Don’t analyze me.”
“I’m not.”
“It sounds like you are.”
“I’m trying to understand why you were willing to destroy your marriage over furniture.”
May you like
Her face went hard again.
“You don’t know anything about my marriage.”
