Chapter 3 - The Trucks Before Sunrise
The first thing Diane said was, “That isn't what it looks like.”
I almost smiled.
Apparently that sentence ran in the family.
Rebecca took the document before I could respond.
“Don't touch anything else,” she said.
The bedroom suddenly felt smaller.
Carlos stepped backward.
“I'll have my crew wait downstairs.”
“Thank you.”
He left.
Megan remained in the doorway, pale and silent.
Ethan stared at the floor.
Diane crossed her arms.
“This is ridiculous.”
Rebecca examined the papers without removing anything else from the safe.
“Laura, do you recognize this transaction?”
“No.”
“Account?”
“Yes.”
“Signature?”
“It resembles mine.”
“Did you authorize anyone to sign for you?”
“No.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
I looked at him.
“Tell me.”
“Laura—”
“Tell me now.”
He glanced at his mother.
That was becoming a habit.
Diane spoke first.
“The house needed repairs.”
“What repairs?”
“The air conditioner.”
I looked around.
“The air conditioner I replaced eighteen months ago?”
“It had issues.”
“How much?”
Diane didn't answer.
Rebecca did.
“The transfer was eighteen thousand seven hundred dollars.”
“An air conditioner didn't cost eighteen thousand seven hundred dollars.”
“There were other expenses.”
“What expenses?”
“Household expenses.”
I laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because sometimes disbelief needs somewhere to go.
“Was my nine hundred dollar contribution not enough?”
Megan lowered her eyes.
Diane's cheeks reddened.
“That sheet was about fairness.”
“Fairness.”
“Yes.”
I pointed at the safe.
“Is forging my signature fair?”
“I didn't forge anything.”
I turned toward Ethan.
He looked sick.
“Who signed it?”
“I did.”
Everything stopped.
Even Diane turned toward him.
“Ethan,” she snapped.
He looked at me.
“I signed it.”
My husband.
Not his mother.
My husband had copied my signature.
“Why?”
“Because I couldn't access the account otherwise.”
“That was intentional.”
“I know.”
“So why?”
He sat on the edge of the bed.
“Mom was in trouble.”
Diane immediately said, “You don't need to explain my personal finances.”
I ignored her.
“What kind of trouble?”
Ethan rubbed both hands over his face.
“She had debt.”
“How much?”
He didn't answer.
“Ethan.”
“About forty thousand.”
Megan gasped.
Apparently even she hadn't known.
I stared at Diane.
“What kind of debt?”
“That's private.”
“You used my money.”
“I didn't ask you to pay it.”
“No. You apparently found a more efficient method.”
Ethan stood.
“I was going to replace it.”
“With what?”
“My bonus.”
“When?”
“December.”
It was March.
I stared at him.
“December already happened.”
“Next December.”
That almost hurt worse than the theft.
He had expected me not to notice for another nine months.
Maybe longer.
Rebecca quietly photographed the documents.
Diane pointed at her.
“You cannot photograph my personal information.”
Rebecca looked at her calmly.
“Then I recommend removing your personal information from someone else's safe.”
Diane went silent.
I searched Ethan's face.
“How much total?”
“That was the only transfer.”
“That's not what I asked.”
He swallowed.
“Laura.”
“How much of my money did you use while I was gone?”
He whispered, “Twenty-six thousand.”
Megan covered her mouth.
I felt strangely calm.
“Twenty-six thousand dollars.”
“Some of it paid household bills.”
“Our household account covers household bills.”
“Mom needed help.”
I looked toward Diane.
She was wearing my robe, standing in my bedroom, surrounded by furniture she had moved into my home, while my husband admitted taking my money to pay her debts.
And somehow she still looked offended.
“What exactly happened to your apartment?” I asked.
Diane's expression hardened.
“That's irrelevant.”
“No. You moved into my house because you supposedly couldn't afford your apartment. So what happened?”
Megan spoke quietly.
“Mom gave it up.”
Diane spun around.
“Megan.”
“What?”
“You said the landlord raised your rent.”
“He did.”
Megan shook her head.
“Not enough to make you leave.”
Diane's face changed.
I looked at Megan.
“Keep talking.”
“Mom wanted the money from the lease.”
“What money?”
Megan hesitated.
“Her apartment was rent-controlled. The owner offered her money to voluntarily leave because he wanted to renovate.”
I stared at Diane.
“How much?”
Megan whispered, “Twenty-two thousand.”
Now even Ethan looked surprised.
“Mom?”
Diane's eyes flashed.
“That was my money.”
Ethan stood.
“You told me you were being forced out.”
“I was under pressure.”
“You said you had nowhere to go.”
“I am your mother.”
“You let me take Laura's money.”
Diane pointed at me.
“Your wife earns more than you. She owns this house. She has savings. Twenty-six thousand dollars is not going to ruin her.”
There it was.
Not denial.
Entitlement.
I walked to the dresser and removed my robe from the hook.
I held it toward her.
“Take it off.”
Diane stared at me.
“What?”
“My robe.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“Take it off, put on your own clothes, and give it back.”
Megan turned away to hide a smile.
Diane's face went crimson.
“This is childish.”
“No. Wearing it without permission was childish. I'm simply correcting the situation.”
She stormed into the bathroom.
Five minutes later, she came out wearing sweatpants and a sweater.
She threw the robe onto the bed.
I folded it carefully.
Then I looked at Ethan.
“You're coming with me.”
“Where?”
“Kitchen.”
Rebecca followed.
At the kitchen table, I opened my laptop.
I hadn't checked our shared finances in detail while deployed because Ethan had always handled routine household payments.
Trust.
Such an expensive word.
I logged into our joint account.
The balance made my stomach tighten.
Then I opened the transaction history.
Restaurant charges.
Furniture.
Department stores.
A resort.
A jewelry store.
A cruise deposit.
I looked at Ethan.
“What is this?”
His face drained.
Diane stood behind him.
Megan whispered, “Oh no.”
The cruise deposit was $6,400.
The reservation listed four passengers.
Ethan.
Diane.
Megan.
And someone named Rachel Monroe.
I had never heard that name before.
I turned the laptop toward my husband.
“Who is Rachel?”
Nobody answered.
Then Megan started crying.
That frightened me more than anything else had.
“Megan?”
She looked at her brother.
“Tell her.”
Ethan shook his head.
“Megan, don't.”
“Tell me what?”
Megan wiped her face.
“Rachel isn't just someone from work.”
The kitchen became completely silent.
I looked at my husband.
And suddenly the stolen money, the bedroom, the car, and Diane's laminated rules felt like pieces of a much larger puzzle.
“Who is she, Ethan?”
He opened his mouth.
Before he could answer, Diane stepped between us.
“This conversation is over.”
I looked at her.
“No.”
Then I looked directly at Ethan.
May you like
“This conversation is finally beginning.”
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