Any other account, any other — anything?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation lasted two seconds.
Two seconds too long.
“There’s a savings account,” he said.
“I opened it about a year ago.
There’s about fourteen thousand in it.”
I sat back.
“A private savings account,” I said.
“Fourteen thousand dollars.”
“I wasn’t hiding it for a bad reason.
I just — I wanted something that was mine.
I know how that sounds.”
“It sounds like you were building an exit,” I said.
He didn’t deny it.
I stood up.
Walked to the window.
Outside, the neighbor’s kid was riding a bicycle up and down the sidewalk, back and forth, back and forth, with the focused pleasure of someone who has nowhere particular to go.
“I want you to understand something,” I said, still looking out the window.
“I’m not crying right now.
I’m not screaming.
I want you to understand that that is not because I’m okay.
It’s because I’m past the part where crying helps.”
“Lauren—”
“I’m going to see a lawyer on Monday.” I turned around.
“Not to make a decision.
To understand what my options are.
I need you to not contact me between now and then except about Toby.”
