“You should have considered that before last night,” I said.
Trevor lowered his voice. “Mom. I made a mistake.”
“No. A mistake is
missing a turn. A mistake is forgetting an appointment. You hit your mother thirty times in front of your wife and your guests.”
“You were counting?”
“Yes.”
The word sat between us like a loaded weapon.
“I was angry,” he said.
“So was I.”
“You pushed me.”
“I reminded you who paid for the roof over your head.”
“You always do this. You always hold money over me.”
“No, Trevor. I held back the truth from you. There’s a difference.”
Behind him I heard office noise: phones, a printer, someone
laughing in the distance, unaware that my son’s life was coming apart under fluorescent lights.
Then he said, “I’ll sue.”
Howard smiled faintly.
“You’re welcome to try. Howard Pierce is sitting across from me. He reviewed every document before the sale.”
