“I know. Sit anyway.”
Slowly, he did.
Rebecca pressed her hands together.
“I said it.”
“Yes.”
“It was terrible.”
“Yes.”
She swallowed.
“But there was more.”
I felt my body go still.
“What more?”
“I said, ‘That’s what it’s starting to feel like.’”
I frowned.
She continued.
“I wasn’t telling Claire that I wanted your money.”
Her voice shook slightly, but she remained composed.
“I was telling her I was worried that was what our family had become.”
I stared at her.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I heard you.”
“You heard part of it.”
I searched my memory.
The patio door had been open slightly.
Rebecca’s voice.
We can’t ask her to leave. She watches the kids, buys groceries, and pays for things. It’s not really her we need. It’s her money.
