Chapter 6: Cicero

I stood by the bed with my hand on the suitcase.

"You'd do that to my father," I said.

"I'd do it to anyone who embarrassed this family in front of the whole city." He straightened his cuff.

"Four days, Annabel. Smile for one picture. Then do whatever you want."

He went back downstairs.

I heard Jillian's voice, soft and wounded.

I heard his answer, softer.

I texted Wesley.

"I'm staying until Saturday. Go home. I'm sorry."

He wrote back.

"Why?"

"My dad."

A minute later his headlights pulled away from under the maple.

In the morning, my lawyer called to say the papers were filed.

"Clean," she said. "He signed every page that needed a signature. Nobody's getting out of it."

"He doesn't know."

"He will. They send him a copy." She paused. "Annie, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'll call you later."

I drove to Cicero.

My parents still lived in the brick bungalow three blocks from the plant.

My mother answered the door in her reading glasses.

"Annie? It's Wednesday. Is something wrong?"

"Is Dad home?"

"He's at the plant until four." She looked at my face. "Come in. I'll make coffee."

Our kitchen was yellow and small.

The table had the same burn mark where I dropped a hot pan when I was twelve.

I sat in my old chair.

My mother poured two mugs and sat down across from me.

"Mom," I said. "How much does Dad still owe the Aldridges?"

She set her mug down very slowly.

"Why are you asking that?"

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