His eyes snapped to mine, irritation flashing.
“That was different,” he said. “That was a loan. We paid it back.”
I almost laughed. Not because it was funny, but because the lie was so clean, so practiced.
Twenty thousand dollars.
Robert had liquidated his retirement fund early, paying penalties we couldn’t afford, because Michael needed help getting established. We’d told ourselves it was an investment in family. They’d paid back exactly three thousand, then the payments stopped, and the subject became too awkward to mention, too messy, too likely to trigger a fight we were afraid would crack the illusion that everything was fine.
Now Michael spoke as if it were settled history. As if I were inventing the debt.
The door opened again, and Ashley stepped out onto the porch, her smile smooth as glass.
“Helen,” she said brightly, like we were at a brunch. “What a surprise. Michael tells me you’re having some challenges with your living situation.”
Challenges.
As if my disability were a scheduling inconvenience.
I lifted my chin. “I was hoping to stay here for a few days while I sort things out.”
Ashley’s smile never wavered. “Oh, honey, I wish we could help,” she said, and her voice held that pitying softness people use when they’re about to refuse you. “But you know how it is with the children’s schedules. Soccer practice, piano lessons, family obligations.”
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