Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
“Is that what you want, Nathan?” I asked. “To sell the house your father built?”
“I just want some peace,” Nathan said, staring at the floorboards.
“You cannot buy peace with five hundred dollars, Nathan,” I said.
He shoved the money back into his pocket and stood up, the metal cot creaking loudly in the quiet room.
He did not say another word as he walked out, leaving the green wooden door swinging open just enough to let the damp evening air slip inside. By six o’clock, the rain had stopped, leaving the brick driveway slick and black under the security lights. I walked up the three concrete steps to the back kitchen door, which Sable had left unlocked for the first time in four days.
The long mahogany dining table was set for three, though the silver salt shakers had already begun to show a faint yellow tarnish around their bases. Nathan sat at the far end, his eyes fixed on his water glass, his shoulders curved inward as if he were trying to occupy less space in his father’s chair.
