Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
“Please, Mom,” he whispered, looking down at his shoes. “Just drop the audit. For my sake. If she goes to jail, I lose everything.”
“I am not playing a game anymore, Nathan,” I said.
“She did it for us,” he said, his voice barely audible over the sound of a distant lawnmower. “She was just trying to keep the house.”
“She did it for herself,” I said. “And she let you take the blame.”
Nathan turned his back to me, looking toward the high brick wall of the estate that had once been our sanctuary. “The hearing is in six days.”
“I know,” I said.
He did not look at me again as he opened his car door and climbed inside. The silver sedan pulled away from the curb, leaving a thin trail of exhaust in the cold air.
The sun was sinking below the pine trees, casting long, orange shadows across Martha’s porch. I sat in the wicker chair, the cool evening air settling over my arms.
Martha came out and set a fresh cup of tea on the small table beside me, her wool shawl tucked tight around her neck. “Did he leave?”
