“He’s not stupid.”
“No.”
“He has a business degree.”
“I know.”
“He should understand you don’t borrow against someone’s house without speaking to them.”
Martin folded his napkin.
“Robert, intelligence doesn’t prevent people from believing what they want to believe.”
I looked at him.
“What did Geoffrey want to believe?”
“That he could save his business.”
The words stayed with me.
That afternoon, I drove to Mesa.
Not to the restaurant.
I parked across the street from it.
Hawthorne Table had once been attractive.
Patricia and I attended the opening two years earlier.
Geoffrey had worn a new blazer and introduced me to every employee as “the guy who taught me not to quit.”
Allison moved through the dining room greeting guests as if she had been born to hospitality.
I had been proud of them.
Now, from my car, I saw handwritten signs advertising reduced lunch prices.
