Chương 13
“You need independent counsel and an accountant without a family conflict.”
“I already have counsel.”
“Then listen to them.”
“They are preparing for insolvency.”
“Is the project insolvent?”
“Not if we secure additional capital.”
“Are you asking me for capital?”
“No.”
“Then what are you asking?”
He went quiet.
Claire waited.
“I don’t know,” he said.
It was becoming his most useful sentence.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“In my car.”
“Outside work?”
“Outside the house.”
“Why?”
“I haven’t told Sophie.”
“Tell her.”
“I’m trying to understand it first.”
“You understand enough.”
“She has the merit audition Thursday.”
“She will still have it Thursday.”
“I don’t want her thinking about me.”
“She is already thinking about you.”
He made a strained sound. “You have an answer for everything.”
“No. I have an answer for this.”
“What if I lose my job?”
“You may.”
“What if we lose the house?”
“You may.”
“What if she has to leave Calloway?”
“She may.”
His breath came unevenly through the phone.
Claire closed her office door.
“When Dad’s store failed,” Eric said, “I heard him crying in the basement.”
Claire remembered the basement steps, the smell of damp concrete and laundry detergent. She had not known Eric heard their father.
“He told Mom he wanted to disappear,” Eric continued. “The next morning he put on a tie and told us everything was fine. I hated him for lying. Then I spent thirty years trying to make his lie come true.”
Claire sat down.
“I thought if I became successful enough,” he said, “then what happened to us would become something that used to be true.”
“Eric.”
“I know how that sounds.”
“It sounds tired.”
He laughed once, then covered it with a cough.
“What do I tell Sophie?” he asked.
“The truth you can support with facts.”
“That is the most Claire sentence you have ever said.”
“Tell her you are on leave. Tell her Harrison may fail. Tell her the house will be listed. Tell her none of it is her fault.”
“And Vanessa?”
“Vanessa tells her own truth.”
He was silent for a while.
“Will you come?” he asked.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked me to solve the room.”
“I asked you to sit in it.”
Claire looked at the photograph on her credenza.
“What time?” she asked.
That evening, they sat at the long dining table in Eric and Vanessa’s house, though no one had eaten.
Sophie’s violin case rested near her chair. She had come directly from Calloway. Vanessa placed a bowl of almonds in the middle of the table, then removed it because the gesture looked absurd.
Eric told Sophie about the administrative leave.
He used too many business terms at first. Exposure. Disclosure. Temporary suspension. Counsel review.
Sophie listened until he said liquidity event, then interrupted.
“Does that mean you don’t have money?”
“It means money is tied up.”
“Can you get it?”
“Not enough.”
“Are you fired?”
“No.”
“Could you be?”
“Yes.”
“Are we selling the house?”
“Yes.”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
Sophie looked around the dining room.
“How soon?”
“We will meet with an agent this week,” Eric said.
“Where will we live?”
“We have options.”
“What options?”
“An apartment. A rental house.”
“Near Calloway?”
“If possible.”
“If I’m still there.”
Eric’s hands tightened on the table.
“We’re submitting the aid forms,” Vanessa said.
He turned to her.
She held his gaze. “We are.”
“I said I needed—”
“The deadline is Friday.”
“I know.”
“You were placed on leave today.”
“That does not change our income history.”
“It changes our income.”
“They’ll use prior tax returns.”
“Then we attach an explanation.”
“You don’t understand how these committees work.”
“Neither do you,” Sophie said.
Eric looked at her.
She continued, “Because Aunt Claire paid before we had to apply.”
No one answered.
Claire sat at the far end of the table, uncomfortable with her place there. The room was large enough to make every silence formal.
Sophie looked at her. “Are you still not paying?”
“I’m still not renewing the sponsorship.”
“Would you help with whatever aid doesn’t cover?”
Eric began, “Sophie—”
“No,” she said. “I’m asking her.”
Claire felt all three of them waiting.
“I don’t know,” she said.
Sophie frowned. “You always know.”
“No. I usually decide before I speak.”
“So decide.”
Claire almost smiled. “That takes longer when other people are watching.”
Vanessa looked down.
Eric said, “She shouldn’t have to ask you.”
“But she does,” Sophie said.
“No. I am your father.”
“And?”
The single word hurt him.
Claire leaned forward. “Your father’s failure does not erase his place in your life.”
Sophie’s eyes flashed. “Why do you defend him after everything?”
“Because everything is not one thing.”
The room settled.
Eric reached for the financial aid packet. He had printed it and left it unopened beside his chair.
He broke the seal.
The forms asked for income, assets, liabilities, unusual circumstances, and expected family contribution. Each line seemed designed to defeat the language Eric used to protect himself.
He read the first page.
Then he picked up a pen.
They worked for three hours.
The process was ugly.
Eric minimized debt until Vanessa produced statements. Vanessa overstated household expenses because she included club dues and private training sessions. Sophie discovered that the cost of her summer masterclass had been placed on a credit card still carrying a balance.
Claire tried not to take over. Twice she corrected figures without being asked. The second time, Eric put the pen down.
“I can add,” he said.
“You reversed two numbers.”
“I saw it.”
“After I pointed it out.”
“Claire.”
She stood. “I’m getting water.”
In the kitchen, she opened three cabinets before finding the glasses, though she had visited the house dozens of times.
Sophie followed.
“Are they going to hate each other?” she asked.
“For a while, possibly.”
“Then what?”
“They decide what to do with the hate.”
“That doesn’t sound promising.”
May you like
“It isn’t a promise.”
Sophie took a glass and filled it from the refrigerator dispenser. The machine made a grinding noise before releasing one ice cube.
