I felt my chest tighten.
“How much?”
“She didn’t say.”
“If the restaurant failed?”
“They could lose almost everything.”
Patricia whispered, “Why didn’t they tell us?”
No one answered.
That was a family question, not a legal one.
Martin collected the documents.
“This helps.”
Lydia looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
I believed her.
Outside the office, Patricia and I stood beside our car.
“Do you think Geoffrey knew?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I don’t.”
She leaned against the door.
“I want him not to know.”
“So do I.”
“And that makes me afraid I’m not seeing clearly.”
I understood exactly what she meant.
We wanted our son to be innocent.
That desire itself could distort things.
Just as anger could.
That evening, Geoffrey came to our house without calling.
I saw him through the front window.
He stood on the porch alone.
