Chapter 11: Wesley's Debts

Wesley came to the house at four with a suitcase in each hand.

They were Sybil's.

He set them in the hall, grinning.

"Mom's at the Pfister," he said. "She says you owe her an apology and a spare key."

Winslow stood on the landing with a folder under his arm.

"Come into the study," he said.

"I'm busy."

"Come into the study, Wesley."

I rode in the coat on Winslow's arm, and I was glad of the weight.

In the study, Winslow put the folder on the desk and opened it.

He laid out the bank statements one by one.

Six months of my supplementary card.

The pharmacy declines.

The casino charges, each one circled in pencil.

A phone number at the bottom of every confirmation text.

Wesley's phone number.

"Four hundred and twelve thousand dollars," Winslow said. "In a year and a half."

Wesley glanced at the page and laughed.

"Brother. Please. Rhona gave me that card."

"She did not."

"She said I could borrow it."

"She told me you were using it," Winslow said. "In this house. Six months ago. I took the card from her and told her to calm down."

Wesley's smile slipped.

"You said you didn't know where the money was going."

"I lied."

I stared at my husband.

He stood very straight with his hands flat on the desk.

"I checked the bank in March," he said. "I knew. I told you nothing, and I told her nothing, because I wanted to handle it myself."

"Handle it?" Wesley said. "Handle it? You let her say it for months! You wrote it in your little book, and then you made her apologize to me!"

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