Chương 3
She stood inside the door while he locked it.
“You can change,” he said. “I’ll make tea.”
“I don’t want tea.”
“You always want tea when you’re upset.”
“I’m not a machine with a tea setting.”
He rested his forehead against the door for a moment.
“No,” he said. “You’re not.”
Maya removed his jacket and laid it over the back of a chair. Her black clutch landed beside it. She walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, though she was not hungry. A carton of eggs, mustard, two containers of leftover Thai food, half a lemon. Ordinary things seemed almost offensive.
Mark loosened his tie.
“Tell me about the transfer.”
Maya closed the refrigerator.
“George’s company has a line of credit. I guaranteed part of it two years ago.”
Mark did not react immediately. That was worse than shouting.
“How much?”
“Two hundred and forty thousand.”
He pulled out a chair and sat.
Maya remained standing.
“You guaranteed two hundred and forty thousand dollars for a company you don’t own.”
“I thought it was temporary.”
“Temporary debt still has numbers.”
“George had the stroke. The bank was going to reduce the line. Eighteen people would have lost their jobs.”
“And your mother asked you.”
“Both of them did.”
“You told me you helped organize the refinancing.”
“I did.”
“You did not tell me your savings and credit were attached to it.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“No. You edited.”
The word landed cleanly.
Mark looked toward the sink, where a plate from breakfast still waited beneath a film of dried egg. He rubbed his thumb over the black band on his right hand, a habit Maya had noticed before she knew she loved him. It had belonged to his older brother, who had died in a motorcycle accident at twenty-six. Mark wore it because taking it off felt like agreeing that time had completed its work.
“Why tonight?” he asked. “What transfer happens Monday?”
“The company has a balloon payment due. George said the bank would renew if the accounts stayed current. I was supposed to move sixty thousand from a reserve account.”
“Whose reserve account?”
“Mine.”
Mark stared at her.
“It’s not all mine,” she said quickly. “Some of it is money I set aside for taxes and the down payment.”
“The down payment on the house we’ve been discussing?”
“Yes.”
“For eight months.”
“Yes.”
“The houses you said we should stop looking at because rates were high.”
“They are high.”
He pushed back from the table and stood. “That is not why you stopped.”
“It was part of why.”
“Maya.”
“I didn’t promise George the money.”
“You kept it available.”
She crossed her arms. “I was going to review the books first.”
“At the wedding?”
“The company paid several vendors this week. The balances didn’t make sense.”
Mark paced once to the window and back. “And after what happened tonight, he still expects you to transfer it.”
“I don’t know what he expects.”
“Yes, you do.”
Her phone began vibrating on the counter.
Helen.
Maya watched the name appear, disappear, and return.
Mark reached for the phone. Maya picked it up first.
“Don’t,” he said.
“I’m not answering.”
The call ended. A voicemail notification appeared, followed by another call from Clara.
Maya silenced the phone.
Mark leaned against the counter. “What happens if you don’t move the money?”
“I need to see the accounts.”
“What happens?”
“The bank could freeze the line. Payroll is Wednesday. Suppliers could stop deliveries. George could default.”
“And you?”
“If they call the guarantee, I could lose most of what I have.”
“What about the money we put down on the condo?”
“That account is separate.”
“Is my name on it?”
“Yes.”
“Can your father touch it?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
She looked at him.
The question hurt because he had earned the right to ask it.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure.”
He nodded, but the motion held no relief.
Maya opened the voicemail from Helen and put the phone on speaker.
Helen’s voice filled the kitchen, controlled and irritated.
“I assume you’re done punishing your sister. Guests are asking questions, and Eli is upset because you left in the middle of the reception. Your father says we need the transfer approved by noon tomorrow so it clears Monday. Call me when you’re prepared to behave like an adult.”
The message ended.
Mark stared at the phone.
“Eli is upset because you left,” he repeated.
Maya pressed delete.
A second voicemail waited from Clara. Her voice was less controlled.
“You could have waited until after the cake. Do you have any idea how this looks? Eli won’t talk to me, Mom is crying, and half the guests are standing around like somebody died. Call me. And tell Mark not to do anything stupid.”
Maya deleted that one too.
Then she sat at the kitchen table.
Mark took the chair across from her. The bakery downstairs had begun its overnight mixing, a low mechanical hum through the floorboards.
Maya placed both hands flat on the table.
“I’m not transferring the money tomorrow.”
Mark studied her face. “Because they hurt you?”
“Because I haven’t seen the books.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
She looked toward the window. Across the alley, someone in another apartment folded laundry in front of a television. A blue shirt, a white towel, a pair of jeans. The person shook each item once before making a precise fold.
“Both,” Maya said.
Mark reached across the table. His hand stopped before touching hers.
“Good.”
The relief in his voice frightened her more than anger would have.
“You think that solves it,” she said.
“No. I think it stops you from setting yourself on fire before we know what’s burning.”
May you like
At six the next morning, Maya woke on Mark’s couch with her hair pinned beneath her cheek and the navy dress wrinkled around her waist. She had refused the bed because changing clothes had seemed like an admission that the wedding was over.
Mark slept in the chair across from her, arms folded, chin against his chest.
