Chương 8
“Please don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Make this worse.”
Her face hardened.
“I’m not the one with a cash envelope in my pocket.”
Charlotte looked back at him.
“Cash?”
Solomon’s jaw tightened.
Dad began climbing the stairs.
When he reached the landing, he took in the scene without speaking.
Me by the guest-room door.
Jennifer beside the stair table.
Charlotte two steps below.
Solomon nearest the master bedroom.
Dad looked at the bulge inside Solomon’s jacket.
Then he looked at me.
“You safe?”
“Yes.”
Solomon scoffed.
“Oh, come on.”
Dad’s eyes moved to him.
“That wasn’t addressed to you.”
“Frank, nobody’s threatening anybody.”
“Good.”
Dad stepped fully onto the landing.
“Then this should stay boring.”
Solomon gave a sharp laugh.
“This is my marriage.”
Dad nodded.
“It is.”
“And my house.”
“No.”
The word was quiet.
It landed harder than shouting would have.
Solomon’s face flushed.
“You know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
Charlotte stepped between them slightly.
“Frank, this doesn’t need to become some macho thing.”
Dad looked at her.
“I brought chicken yesterday, Charlotte.”
“What?”
“I’m seventy percent cholesterol and twenty percent lower-back pain.”
He gestured at himself.
“Nobody here should be worried about macho anything.”
Against every reasonable instinct, Jennifer snorted.
Then she covered her mouth.
Dad looked at her.
“You must be Jennifer.”
Her face went pale.
“Yes.”
“I’m Frank.”
“I know.”
“I assumed.”
Solomon rubbed his forehead.
“This is insane.”
I looked at his jacket again.
“Take out the envelope.”
Dad followed my gaze.
“What envelope?”
Solomon said, “It’s personal.”
I laughed.
“Personal.”
“Yes.”
“To whom?”
He did not answer.
Dad’s expression changed by almost nothing.
“What’s in it?”
“Cash.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
Jennifer stared at him.
“You just counted it.”
His eyes flashed toward her.
“How much, Solomon?”
I asked.
He breathed through his nose.
“About eight thousand.”
Charlotte made a small choking sound.
“Eight thousand dollars?”
“It’s mine.”
“From where?”
“Savings.”
I looked at him.
“We don’t keep eight thousand dollars in cash.”
“You don’t.”
There was the first real blow.
Not Jennifer.
Not the robe.
Not even Charlotte.
You don’t.
Two words that suggested a private financial life running beside our shared one.
Dad heard it too.
“Where did it come from?”
Solomon looked irritated now, which meant fear had found something easier to wear.
“Why is everybody interrogating me?”
“Because you hid eight thousand dollars next to a passport,” I said.
Jennifer’s eyes widened.
“A passport?”
Charlotte turned fully toward her son.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“You have cash and passports.”
“Passport.”
I stared at him.
“There were two.”
The hallway went silent.
Solomon looked at me too quickly.
Jennifer whispered, “Whose is the other one?”
He did not answer.
That told me more than an answer might have.
I moved toward the bedroom.
Solomon stepped sideways, blocking the doorway.
Dad immediately said, “Don’t.”
Solomon glanced at him.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Then move.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Move.”
Charlotte touched Solomon’s arm.
“Let her in.”
He jerked away.
“Can everybody stop acting like I committed some crime?”
I felt something inside me settle.
“Then stop behaving like you’re afraid of one.”
His eyes met mine.
For a moment, I saw the man who had once slept on the hospital floor beside Theo’s crib because the pediatric ward chair hurt my back.
The man who made pancakes shaped like badly drawn animals.
The man who called me from grocery stores because he could never remember which yogurt I liked.
Those things had been real.
That was the problem.
People imagined betrayal erased everything before it.
It did not.
It contaminated it.
Solomon stepped away from the bedroom door.
I walked past him.
Dad followed but stopped at the threshold.
The black pouch remained open on the nightstand.
I reached inside.
My hand found the second passport.
For one irrational second, I expected Jennifer’s name.
It was not Jennifer’s.
The photograph showed Theo.
My vision narrowed.
I read the name again.
Theodore James Mercer.
My son’s passport.
Behind me, Charlotte said, “Oh my God.”
I turned slowly.
Solomon had gone gray.
Jennifer looked confused.
Dad did not.
He looked furious.
I held up the passport.
“Why is this hidden with cash?”
Solomon said, “It isn’t hidden.”
I stared at him.
He corrected himself.
“I mean, it’s stored.”
“In a black pouch under your T-shirts.”
“That drawer locks.”
“That makes it better?”
“No.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“No, okay, listen.”
Dad said, “Choose your next words carefully.”
Solomon snapped, “Would you stop threatening me?”
“I haven’t threatened you once.”
“You keep talking like—”
“Then stop performing and answer her.”
Solomon looked at me.
His shoulders dropped a fraction.
“I was thinking about taking Theo to my brother’s place for a few days.”
I could not process the sentence.
“Your brother.”
“In Vancouver.”
Jennifer whispered, “What?”
Solomon’s eyes flicked toward her.
She took a step backward.
“You never told me that.”
“It wasn’t decided.”
“You were going to take your son out of the country?”
Charlotte asked.
“No.”
“You just said Vancouver.”
“I was thinking about it.”
“With eight thousand dollars in cash?”
Dad asked.
Solomon’s voice rose.
“I wasn’t kidnapping him.”
The word exploded into the room because nobody else had said it.
Charlotte went completely still.
Jennifer put one hand over her mouth.
Dad’s eyes narrowed.
I stared at Solomon.
“Why would you say that?”
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
I walked toward him.
He backed up one step.
“Why would you use that word?”
“Because that’s what everyone’s implying.”
“No one implied it.”
“You’re holding his passport like I had some criminal plan.”
“You hid his passport with cash.”
“I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
That answer hurt in a different way.
I almost stepped back.
He continued before I could speak.
“I knew if you found out, your dad would throw me out.”
Dad said, “Correct so far.”
May you like
Solomon ignored him.
“And I knew you’d make it hard for me to see Theo.”
