Chapter 13: Sunday Dinner

Ben drove me to my parents' house on Sunday and parked at the curb with the engine off.

"I'll be here," he said.

"It could be an hour."

"I brought a book."

He held up a paperback about trains and a bag of sour cream and onion chips.

The flash drive was in my coat pocket.

I had not slept, and I had not told anyone but Ben what was on it.

Mom opened the door before I knocked.

She looked at my face for a second too long, then took my coat and hung it up without a word.

The dining room table was set for five.

There was a pot roast in the middle, and my father was at the head of it, in his PupPalace polo.

Aunt Deb sat on his left with her eyes on her plate.

Tyler sat on his right, scrolling on his phone.

"Vicky," Dad said, standing halfway. "Good. Sit. We'll eat first."

We ate first.

Nobody said much, and Dad talked about the weather and the Bengals.

When my mother cleared the plates, he pushed his chair back and folded his hands on the tablecloth.

"I'm going to say this straight, because we're family," he said.

"Okay," I said.

"PupPalace has six leases. Three stores are open and three are signed. The bank wants a bridge before it will release the next payment."

"How much?" I asked.

"Four hundred thousand dollars."

Tyler looked up from his phone.

"Uncle Gary, you said we'd wait on that part."

"I said I'd handle it, bud. I'm handling it."

Dad turned back to me.

"You're the only person at this table who knows how to run a store," he said. "I'll admit that. I should have said it sooner."

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