Chương 11
“No.”
“I don’t.”
She pressed her palms together.
“He has a certain idea of how things should run.”
“Meaning?”
“He works long hours.”
“So do plenty of people.”
“I know that.”
“Does he stop you from working?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
Too quickly.
“He doesn’t stop me.”
“What does he do?”
She looked down.
“He makes it miserable.”
There was no drama in the sentence.
That made it worse.
“How?”
“If I pick up extra hours, suddenly everything is my fault.”
“What everything?”
“Dinner isn’t ready.”
“Mason needs a ride.”
“His shirts aren’t back from the cleaners.”
“The dog hasn’t been walked.”
“He says he’s joking, then doesn’t speak to me.”
I looked toward the front window.
Mason stood outside under the porch light, kicking the edge of the concrete with one sneaker.
I had mistaken the household for a place where everyone used me equally.
Maybe that had been convenient for me.
It was easier to be angry at Stephanie when I did not look too closely at who had trained whom to need what.
“That doesn’t excuse what you did,” I said.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She flinched.
“I knew about Wade.”
“You knew about the payments.”
“Yes.”
“You knew the money you sent me was debt repayment.”
“Yes.”
“You knew the lawyer letter came.”
“Yes.”
“And you still took me to a store and demanded I pay almost a thousand dollars for a party.”
Her eyes filled again.
“I wasn’t thinking.”
“You were.”
I kept my voice quiet.
“That’s the problem.”
She looked at me.
“You were thinking about Clinton’s boss.”
“You were thinking about dinner.”
“You were thinking about keeping Clinton calm.”
“You were thinking about the mortgage.”
“You just weren’t thinking about me.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
She wiped it away angrily.
“I thought if he got the promotion, we could fix everything.”
“With one promotion?”
“It comes with a salary increase.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Enough to pay me forty-seven thousand dollars?”
“No.”
“Enough to finish the suite?”
“Not right away.”
“Enough to catch up the mortgage?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe.”
She nodded.
“Maybe.”
That was the first honest word she had given me that night without being cornered into it.
Evelyn got up quietly.
“I’m going to check on Mason.”
Stephanie looked at her.
“He hates when adults follow him.”
“So did my son.”
Evelyn picked up her coffee mug.
“Sometimes he hated being alone more.”
She went outside.
Stephanie watched the door close.
Then she said, “You think I’m horrible.”
“I think you did horrible things.”
“That’s not the same?”
“No.”
She gave a weak, bitter smile.
“That sounds like something Dad would say.”
Donald had believed people could be guilty without becoming only their guilt.
He had also believed in consequences.
I had forgotten that part more often.
“What happened with Wade?”
Stephanie leaned back and looked at the ceiling.
“Clinton trusted him.”
“That doesn’t explain giving him all the renovation money.”
“He was starting the company.”
“So Clinton funded his brother’s business with my money.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be funding.”
“What was it supposed to be?”
“Wade said he could act as general contractor.”
“Was he licensed?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never asked?”
“I didn’t handle it.”
There it was again.
A sentence I had used myself too many times.
Donald handled that.
Stephanie handled that.
Clinton handles that.
Words people use when they do not want responsibility for understanding the things that control their lives.
“What did Wade do with the money?”
“He paid some subcontractors.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“And the rest?”
“He had gambling debt.”
I stared at her.
“What kind?”
“Sports betting.”
The room seemed to become smaller.
“Clinton knew?”
“Not until later.”
“When did he find out?”
“When the plumbing company called about an unpaid invoice.”
“How much?”
“Almost eleven thousand.”
“And what did Clinton do?”
“He confronted Wade.”
“What did Wade say?”
“That he was going to replace it.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“Did you call the police?”
Stephanie shook her head.
“Why?”
“Clinton said it would destroy his mother.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Another family preserved by asking the injured person to absorb the damage.
“What did his mother know?”
“Nothing.”
“Does she know now?”
“No.”
“Does Wade’s wife?”
“I think some of it.”
“Did anyone sue him?”
“No.”
“Did anyone even demand the money back in writing?”
“Clinton did.”
“Show me.”
Her mouth opened.
“What?”
“The texts, emails, whatever he sent.”
“I don’t have them.”
“Clinton does?”
“I think so.”
“That would matter.”
“For what?”
“For knowing whether any of this can be recovered.”
She stared at me.
“You’re really going after Wade.”
“I’m really finding out where my money went.”
“That could blow up Clinton’s whole family.”
I felt my temper rise.
“Stephanie.”
“I’m not saying don’t.”
“You almost did.”
“I’m saying it won’t just be him.”
“Was that supposed to stop me?”
“No.”
She looked ashamed.
“Maybe.”
I stood and walked into Evelyn’s kitchen.
My mouth was dry.
I filled a glass from the tap and drank half of it.
Stephanie followed me but stayed near the doorway.
The refrigerator hummed.
A magnet shaped like a peach held up a coupon for dry cleaning.
Nothing in Evelyn’s kitchen cared that three generations of my family were rearranging themselves in the next room.
“Did you ever intend to tell me?” I asked.
Stephanie looked at the floor.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“After the modification?”
She did not answer.
“That means no.”
“I was scared.”
“So was I after your father died.”
“I know.”
“You used that.”
Her head snapped up.
“I did not.”
“You put papers in front of me while I could barely remember what day it was.”
“That wasn’t me.”
“You put sticky arrows on the signatures.”
“Because the lawyer told us where you needed to sign.”
“Did you read the agreement?”
“Yes.”
“Did you explain it to me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
May you like
“Because Clinton said the lawyer had already explained it.”
“Did he?”
