Page 51 of Her Ex-Husband's Brother

We stand in the evening air, and I cross my arms tight over my stomach.

The plaza is quiet. The café is closed, and there’s the particular hush of an RV park at the hour after dinner when everyone is inside but still awake.

“I’m not coming back home,” I say. “If that’s what this is.”

“It’s not.” Jake puts his hands in his pockets. “I know. I’m— I’ve accepted that. I just—” He exhales. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“Okay.”

“The money, Lennon.”

I breathe out in relief. “You’re ready to open up the accounts again?”

“What?” he looks confused. “No. I mean the money from the sock drawer.”

I just stare at him.

“I’m not accusing you,” he says quickly, palms up. “I want to be clear about that. I’m not accusing you of anything. I just—when I went to the drawer, there was only one sock, and I need to understand?—”

“I took half,” I say. “My half, Jake.”

“Right, but—” He tilts his head slightly. “The thing is, that money washouseholdmoney. It wasn’t specifically either of ours, it was?—”

“It was both of ours. I took half.”

“I understand that’s howyousee it?—”

“That’s how itis.”

“Okay.” He nods slowly. Carefully. Like I’ve said something that requires processing. “Okay. I hear you. I just want to make sure we’re both being honest about what happened. Because from where I’m standing it looks a little like?—”

“Like what?” I say, baffled as I even try to wrap my head around what he’s implying.

He looks pained. “It looks like you took money that wasn’t yours to take, Lennon. I don’t think youmeantto do anything wrong. I think you were upset and just not thinking clearly?—”

“I was thinking completely clearly.” I can feel the familiar frustration rising as he tries to get me scrambled up in my head.

“Lennon.” His voice drops. Patient. The voice he uses when I’m being difficult. “You left in a crisis state. You’d just had a huge emotional event and you weren’t in a position to make financial decisions. I think you probably?—”

“I am not doing this,” I say, taking a step back from him.

“I’m just trying to understand?—”

“You know exactly what you’re doing.” My voice has an edge in it. “You’ve locked me out of every bank account, including my business. What am I supposed to live on?” My voice goes up at the end, incredulous. “And now you’re standing here telling me the thousand dollars I took—halfthe money in that drawer—wastheft?”

“I didn’t use that word?—”

“You implied it.”

“I’m trying to have a calm conversation?—”

“We are having a calm conversation.”

“You’re raising your voice,” he says.

I stop.

I am not raising my voice. I am standing in an RV park speaking at a completely normal volume and he has just made that move I’ve watched him make so many times I could choreograph it.