Chapter 2 - The Blue Folder
I did not sleep much that night.
Rain tapped against the kitchen window while I sat with my laptop, a calculator, and the blue folder Henry had labeled HOUSEHOLD RECORDS in his patient, square handwriting.
My husband had been gone seven years.
I still reached for his judgment before remembering I would have to use my own.
In June, David had called about water dripping through an upstairs ceiling.
He sounded exhausted.
Pamela had supposedly found a contractor who could start immediately, provided they paid upfront.
I remembered asking about insurance.
“Mom, the deductible and exclusions make it complicated.”
Complicated.
That word had become a door my son closed whenever I asked reasonable questions.
I found the transfer.
Eighteen thousand dollars.
Below it lay a printed invoice from a company called Summit Exterior Solutions.
I had filed it without looking closely.
Now I noticed the address.
It belonged to a shipping store.
The invoice described a complete roof replacement, yet contained no measurements, materials, or disposal charges.
I knew nothing about roofing.
I knew plenty about records that wanted to look more convincing than they were.
At seven-thirty, I called my friend Marlene.
She answered on the second ring.
“Who died?”
“My patience.”
“Finally. I’ll bring muffins.”
Marlene had worked beside me at the public library for twenty-three years. She arrived wearing rain boots and the expression she usually reserved for people who returned books with food inside them.
I told her about dinner.
Then I showed her the invoice.
She read it twice.
“Have you asked David?”
“Not yet.”
“Good. Find out what you know before he tells you what you’re allowed to know.”
At nine, I called the number printed on the invoice.
A recorded voice informed me it was no longer in service.
I searched the company name and found nothing matching the contact details.
Then I opened Pamela’s public social-media page.
I rarely looked at it. Her photographs always left me feeling as though I had walked into a party where my invitation had been misplaced.
June eighteenth: a resort pool.
June twentieth: a restaurant overlooking turquoise water.
June twenty-second: Pamela holding a shopping bag outside a designer boutique.
The caption read: Sometimes you just have to say yes to the life you deserve.
The roof transfer had cleared June seventeenth.
Marlene leaned closer.
“Well,” she said softly.
That was all.
It was enough.
At ten-fifteen, David knocked.
He still had his navy blazer on. A dark patch marked one sleeve where rain had soaked through.
I opened the door but did not step aside.
“How did you settle dinner?”
He blinked.
“Pamela used her work card.”
“That sounds unwise.”
“She’s reimbursing it. Can I come in?”
I let him.
He saw the folder immediately.
“What’s all this?”
“Household records.”
He sat without removing his coat.
“Mom, last night got out of hand.”
“Yes.”
“Rosalind shouldn’t have said that.”
“No.”
“But leaving us with the bill—”
“With your bill.”
He exhaled sharply.
“We thought you understood.”
“I understood three hundred dollars to hold the room.”
“Pamela said she explained it.”
“Pamela did not explain it.”
His eyes moved toward the papers.
I slid the roofing invoice across the table.
“Who replaced your roof?”
For the first time since he arrived, his face stopped moving.
“The contractor.”
“His name?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Was the roof replaced?”
He swallowed.
“Repairs were done.”
“That invoice says replacement.”
“Mom, I can’t remember every detail.”
“Then bring me the details.”
He pushed the paper back.
“Why are you making this into an investigation?”
I looked at the gray beginning to show at his temples.
Because you are my son, I thought.
Because I would rather be foolish than right.
Aloud, I said, “Because I asked you a simple question, and you’ve answered three different ones.”
His phone buzzed.
PAMELA appeared on the screen.
He stood.
“I’ll talk to her.”
“David.”
He paused.
“Until this is cleared up, there will be no more transfers.”
His expression hardened with something uncomfortably close to fear.
“Not even the mortgage help this month?”
I had never agreed to mortgage help this month.
After he left, Marlene emerged from the hallway.
May you like
Neither of us spoke.
Then I opened the folder again and began adding up everything.
