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My Father Went to Prison for Their Money, So I Married Their Heir novel · Chapter 15 of 32

Chapter 15: The Kitchen at Three

I did not believe the slip until I had read the date three times.

I stood in the stairwell of the union hall with my mother's oncologist's name in my head.

The paper in my fist, and my father's voice from table nine saying, I don't want to talk about the case.

Winston had gone.

He had taken the stairs one at a time, humming.

I walked out past the coffee urn without hearing anyone, and I got in the Buick, and I drove.

I drove the whole day.

I drove down to the river and up again, and out the causeway to Tybee and back.

At some point the sun went and the streetlights came on.

I found that I had parked outside the Ravenel house and could not remember turning in.

The porch was dark.

Only one window was lit, at the back, where the kitchen was.

It was three o'clock in the morning.

I let myself in by the back door, and the house breathed around me.

Beau was sitting at the kitchen table in a white T-shirt with a mug of cold coffee and a glass of water, and a lamp on.

He looked up and said nothing.

I put the bank slip on the table in front of him.

He read it and looked at me.

"My father took two hundred and twelve thousand dollars," I said. "From the pension fund, to pay for my mother's chemo. That's what that is. That's the proof he stole it. That's what Winston has been waiting to show me."

"Sabra..."

"Tell me it isn't," I said.

"I can't."

"Tell me you didn't know."

"I didn't know," Beau said. "I've never seen that paper. But I won't tell you it isn't true. I don't know what it is."

I stared at him.

I had come in shaking, wanting him to take it away.

I had wanted him to say it was forged, or a trick, or a lie, anything that would let me keep the father I had.

He sat there with his hands flat and let it stand.

"Argue with me," I said. "Say something."

"I could tell you what you want. I'd rather you were angry at me than lied to."

"I'm not angry at you," I said.

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