"I'm not doing anything," she said, all wounded innocence. "But if you change your mind, it's yours."
Beth wasn't buying it, but her voice frayed at the edges. "I'm not taking a million dollars."
I sat on the step, legs folded up. "Beth, if you need to get out, you get out. That's the only thing that matters. Everything else can be fixed later."
She sniffed, regaining some resolve. "How do I raise them alone, though? Three kids. No support. I barely keep up as it is."
Gerty snorted like she couldn't believe the question. "Honey, you've been a single parent all along. The only difference is you won't have an overgrown man-child to babysit anymore."
That actually got a laugh out of Beth.
I hooked a photo out of the envelope and studied it. Beth's daughter, Eliza, aged five, grinning with both front teeth missing. "Did he ever do anything for them? Even once?"
Beth exhaled. "Sometimes, but it was always for show. Like the matching rain boots fiasco, remember that?"
I did, actually. He bought all three kids matchingboots, then had a fit when they got covered in mud. "He's never going to change."
Beth went quiet. Then her voice got shaky, vulnerable in a way she rarely allowed. "Honestly, my biggest fear isn't him. It's me. What if I mess up? What if I can't keep them safe? I'm worried most about Eliza. She's acting out more than usual for her age. She had a total meltdown in the shoe section at Target yesterday. Screamed when I wouldn't buy the glitter boots. Told me I was ruining her life." Beth laughed, weak but real. "How do you do it, Gerty? Seriously. You grew up with all the money in the world, but you never turned into a brat. What's the secret?"
Gerty's reply came fast. "My paternal grandmother. She was a war bride from Ireland. Married a man with family money, but never forgot what it meant to be poor. She'd hand me a twenty for the mall, then put me to work at the homeless shelter the next day, scooping soup." Gerty paused, like she was remembering the kitchen's tinny smell and the clatter of plastic trays. "She said money was a responsibility, not just a privilege. Few things cure entitlement faster than serving meals to people who have nothing. She made sure I got the message."
Beth hummed, considering it. "Maybe that's whatwe need. As soon as I get my feet under me, I'm signing us up to volunteer. Think Eliza will forgive me?"
The mental image made me smile. Eliza in a soup kitchen, sulking her way through charity. It was almost enough to believe things would turn out okay.
The silence stretched a long beat, then Beth filled it with raw honesty. "Thanks, both of you. I, God, I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You'd survive," said Gerty, absolute certainty in her words. "You've done more on less, girl. We just help smooth the bumps."
Beth's breathing evened out. "You guys make it sound easy."
I stood up and started unpacking another box, just to keep moving. "Nothing about parenting is easy. But you keep them safe, that's enough."
The silence on Beth's end was thicker now, but steadier. "I'm still worried about what he'll do."
"I'm working on a plan," said Gerty, reverting to her default setting of deflect and conquer.
Beth was stubborn. "Gerty, if you interfere?—"
Gerty interrupted with a sigh. "I promise, I won't. Pinky swear. But that doesn't mean I'm not researching industrial-strength repellent."
I snorted. "You're going to end up on a watch list, Gerty."
"Too late," she deadpanned. "After my last gallery showing, I'm pretty sure the FBI already has a folder on me."
That reminded me. "Speaking of which, how's the stalker situation?"
Gerty shrugged it off, but she hated admitting fear. "He's still out there, but I've been working from home. The gallery is fine with it, so I don't have to step foot in public unless I want to."
"You're safe?"
She snorted. "Please. He's a keyboard warrior at best. I'm more worried about running out of coffee. Besides, my security system has more cameras than Fort Knox. If he shows up again, I'll catch him on tape, and the cops will do their thing."
Beth sounded skeptical. "He broke into your house, Gerty. That's not keyboard warrior territory."
"He broke a window. He scared himself more than he scared me. But if it ever gets bad, I know exactly where to go." Laughter bubbled in Gerty's voice. "I'd just show up at Tash's place with a bottle of wine and a week's worth of laundry."
That was my cue. "Beth, if you do need to get out in a hurry, come here. There's a couch and plenty of space if you don't mind kids and chaos."
