Chapter 3
Harrison sent Grace an email offering to repay five thousand dollars immediately and the rest over a year.
It was the first time he had put a number beside what he owed me.
Grace asked for the full account history before we discussed terms. The bank had given her a list of charges Harrison acknowledged and others he said were mine.
One of them was a weekend at a coastal resort.
I had spent that weekend home alone, waiting for a call from him.
He had told me he and Sloan were visiting friends.
When I showed Harrison the date, he sat down at the kitchen table.
“We went away because things were bad between us,” he said.
“You charged it to my account.”
“I know.”
“Did you ask yourself what I might have needed that money for?”
He looked toward the window.
“I told myself it was temporary.”
For months, that word had been used for everything in my house. Their stay was temporary. The bottles in my bathroom were temporary. The missing money was temporary too, as long as I never asked when any of it would end.
Sloan came in while he was still sitting there.
“Are you interrogating him again?”
“I’m asking about a charge he made.”
“We’ll repay it,” she said.
“Grace will contact you.”
Sloan folded her arms.
“Harrison’s trying. You keep acting like we’re strangers.”
I thought of the way she had moved through my birthday guests with her elbow aimed at Brenda’s cake.
“I’ve treated you as family,” I said. “You have both taken advantage of that.”
Her face flushed.
“Your son used the account. Talk to him.”
“I am.”
Harrison remained silent.
I went to Brenda’s house that afternoon because I could not sit inside mine while they argued upstairs. Brenda made tea and let me talk until I ran out of words.
“I burned her purse,” I said. “I can’t pretend I was blameless that day.”
“You can pay for what you destroyed if that’s what you decide,” Brenda said. “It doesn’t settle what they took from you.”
“I’m afraid Harrison will only remember the fire.”
“Then give him time to remember the rest.”
That evening, I asked Grace to include the handbag in our discussions. I had acted in anger and was willing to pay its documented value or replacement cost. She said we could handle it separately and keep clear records.
I didn’t want Harrison to say I expected accountability from him while refusing my own.
Two days later, Grace sent the written notice about moving out. She followed the rules that applied to people who had been living in my home, and she gave Harrison and Sloan a clear date.
Harrison read it in front of me.
“You couldn’t tell me yourself?”
“I told you. Grace put it in writing so there’s no confusion.”
“This is my childhood home.”
“It was mine and Peter’s home too. I want to feel safe here again.”
He looked at me sharply.
“Do you think I’d hurt you?”
“You took money I trusted you not to touch. When I questioned how we were living, you made me feel like a guest.”
“I never meant to.”
“I believe you didn’t think about how it felt to me.”
That seemed to reach him. He sat down with the notice in his hand.
“Dad would hate this,” he said.
“Your father loved you. He also expected you to tell the truth.”
Harrison stood and went upstairs.
The following week was strained. They boxed some belongings and argued over apartments. I stayed out of their search. I bought my own groceries and kept receipts for shared household bills, as Grace suggested.
Then the bank called.
Several charges had been made after I removed Harrison’s access. They had used a card number tied to my account, entered online before it was canceled.
I had not approved them.
The bank blocked the transactions and opened another review. I asked for the merchant names. Two were for furniture deliveries. The shipping address was a storage facility.
I called Harrison.
“Did you order furniture on my card after we spoke?”
“No.”
“Someone tried to.”
“Sloan may have left the details saved on her laptop. I’ll ask her.”
He called back ten minutes later.
“She said she didn’t place an order.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
Grace advised me to save the bank’s written report and avoid arguing over it until we had more information. The bank could identify how the orders were submitted.
That night, I passed Sloan in the hallway. She was carrying a folded blanket to the guest room.
“I didn’t use your card again,” she said before I spoke.
“I haven’t accused you.”
“You called Harrison. He came straight to me.”
“I asked him about a charge.”
Her eyes filled suddenly.
“I know you hate me, Lorraine.”
“I’m angry with you. I don’t know what to believe about those orders.”
She held the blanket tighter.
“I’m trying to find us somewhere to live.”
“I hope you do.”
I went into my room and locked the door.
The next morning, Harrison knocked. He had a printed order confirmation in his hand.
“Sloan found it in her email,” he said. “The furniture was ordered from my account. Your card was still saved there.”
“Who pressed the button?”
His mouth tightened.
“She says she did. She thought the payment had changed to ours.”
May you like
I looked at the date.
The order had been placed the morning after Grace sent the notice.
