“There was a second card on your account,” she whispered.
I tightened my fingers around the receiver. “A second card? Whose name is on it?”
Larkin paused, the hesitation heavy. “That’s the part I wasn’t sure I should tell you over the phone.”I looked across my kitchen at the bright blue circles drawn on my calendar. Maren’s lessons. The costume deposit. The recital fee. The competition fee. Every single blue circle had been funded by my checking account. Or so I had thought.
A grandmother looking thoughtfully at a calendar on her kitchen wall, holding a telephone receiver.
The blue circles on my calendar represented more than just dance fees; they were the illusion of my involvement.Take Dance Class
“Larkin,” I said firmly. “You called me. So whatever you found, I imagine you think I ought to know.”
She breathed in sharply. “The card belongs to your son, David.”
I sat very still. None of this made any sense. David was always short on money—at least, that was the narrative he had fed me for a decade. It was always a new transmission, higher insurance premiums, school shoes for Maren, a busted water heater, or Kiley’s work hours getting cut. For years, I had heard every variation of the financial struggle. “Mama, could you cover dance this month? Mama, we’ll pay you back when things settle down.”
Things had apparently been settling down for nine years without anyone ever getting around to paying me back.
