Chapter 4 - THEIR VERSION
At seven, I spread the bank statements across the kitchen table.
Harrison arrived with takeout.
“I got your favorite.”
“Put it away.”
Sloan sat without looking at the pages.
“I don’t understand why this has become an interrogation.”
“Then I’ll make it simple.”
I tapped the first charge.
“Who went to this spa?”
“I did.”
“With my money.”
“Harrison said it was fine.”
I looked at my son.
“I meant for some things,” he said.
“Which things?”
“We’ve contributed around here.”
“Name a bill you paid.”
He stared at the takeout bag.
Sloan leaned forward.
“You offered to help us get back on our feet.”
“I offered you a bedroom.”
“And we gave up our privacy to live with you.”
I almost smiled.
The nerve required to say it impressed me for half a second.
Then I remembered David selling his boat because we needed a safer cushion for retirement.
I placed the real estate card beside the statements.
“What happens Friday?”
Harrison’s head snapped up.
“Where did you get that?”
“On my entry table.”
Sloan reached for it.
I put my hand over it.
“It’s just a valuation,” she said.
“Of my house.”
“You complain about the stairs.”
“I complained about carrying your laundry up them.”
Harrison rubbed his forehead.
“We thought a smaller place might be easier.”
“Who is we?”
“Mom, don’t do this.”
“What did you tell the agent?”
“That we were exploring options.”
I studied him.
When he was eight, he broke a neighbor’s window and confessed before the glass stopped falling.
Now he could sit across from me with seventeen thousand dollars missing and call it exploring.
“You will cancel that appointment.”
Sloan stood.
“Fine. Keep the house. Keep everything. We’ll remember this when you need help.”
I gathered the pages with shaking fingers.
“I needed help last winter.”
Harrison opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
After they went upstairs, my phone lit up.
A message from Ruth.
I found something in the video I took at your party. Call me before you talk to them again.
May you like
A second message followed.
The cake wasn't the beginning.
