I gave her a pathetic smile that expressed mythanks for whitewashing and softeningthat last piece. She smiled back.
“So, lie?”
“Yes. With the scholarships, you will be able to rent something in, what, a month or two, if you have to save up for a first month deposit?”
“With my credit score? I need to save enough for a heftier security deposit than they usually ask for, which might mean longer.”
From the look on her face, it was clear that this was the first time my sister understood how deep a hole I was wallowing in.
“I can take a loan and lend you the money. September will pitch in, too.”
“No! No way! She has a mortgage and three kids, you have a mortgage on the business, mom only has her pension. No. I’ll manage.”
“How?”
“I’ll sell Pretty.”
June tilted her head in acome on. True, when I had tried to file for bankruptcy under chapter 13, they had rejected Pretty because she had little monetary value and I had no other assets to liquidate except my wages.
“I’ll take more shifts.”
“You already work as hard as Mom ever did.”
“What am I going to do then?” I hid my face in my palms, my elbows resting on the cold, wooden surface of the table. I rubbed my forehead.
“Is the cabana you stayed in at your friend’s still available?”
I whipped my head toward June.
“You could tell the boys you’re renting it. It’ll be a good place to bring them to. And after their visit is over, we’ll figure something out.”
“I can’t do it. It’s … not that simple.”
“Something’s gotta give, January.”
She was right. Something did, and it couldn’t be my sons’ peace of mind.
Chapter 18
Oliver
“So, this is your new thing—screening my calls?” Blanche asked as soon as Bruce left the meeting room.
“You can always get me when it’s business. I was busy.” She had texted me the day before to tell me that my “surprise was on the way.” I hadn’t responded. She had then tried calling. I hadn’t picked up. I knew that if it was business-related, she’d text me or Bruce. She hadn’t.
“Don’t you want to know what your surprise was?”
“Not really.” I kept my eyes on my laptop. She was roaming around the large, gray-painted, non-descript meeting room, from the window to the large, gray table and back. I was about to add, if it hadn’t become clear already, that our arrangement had been nulled, when she spoke again.
“I stopped by your house.”
I snapped my head in her direction.
“Now I have your attention.” She smiled. “Maybe that was why I did that. Silly me,” she said from her place at the window. “I made a layover on my way here, thinking it’d be fun if we took the flight here together. I stopped by to surprise you and pick you up.”
There was nothing in our arrangement that could have hinted even remotely that anything of that sort would be desirable or even acceptable. There had never been anything romantic or promising that would justify something like that. I was about to say that, but a more burning question came out first.
“How do you know where my house is?”
