She probably heard us talking. Probably caught bits and pieces through the walls.
That's okay.
We'll explain everything.
Sergio knocks on the guest room door.
I stand behind him, flanked by my brothers, and wait.
Friday is coming.
And when it does, we're going to be ready.
16
JESSICA
My thumb hovers over the app, because I hate living here and not contributing to anything, so I need to check after spending all the money on suppressants to see how much money I can give Carlos for the repairs and just any contribution I can make to the household.
Account frozen.
The phone slips from my hand, bouncing on the quilt.
No.
I snatch it back up, fingers clumsy. Refresh the app. The loading circle spins and spins.
Account frozen.
"No." The word comes out strangled. I'm on my feet again, pacing faster. My heart hammers against my ribs. "No, no, no."
I jab the bank's number. Press the phone to my ear so hard it hurts. I need to get estimates on the house repairs. The water damage isn't going to fix itself. While on hold I listen to some awful instrumental version of a pop song I can't place. My free hand clenches and unclenches at my side.
Twenty-three minutes. I count every second while pacing circles around the small room, wearing a path in the floorboards that probably isn't actually there.
"First National Bank, this is Brenda! How can I make your day better?"
The cheerfulness makes me want to scream.
"My account is frozen." I force the words through gritted teeth. "The one ending in 4739. I need to know why."
"Let me just pull that up for you!" Keyboard clicking, rapid-fire. "Okay, yes, I see that. Mr. Whitmore called yesterday afternoon to report suspicious activity on the account."
My stomach drops like a stone. I stop pacing mid-step.
"Mr. Whitmore doesn't have access to that account." My voice sounds hollow. "He's not on that account. That's my account. From before."
More clicking. Each tap feels like a nail in a coffin.
"Hmm, I'm showing here that he was added as a joint account holder. Let me see... yes, here it is. March 15th of last year."
March.
The word echoes in my skull. I'm moving again, but I don't remember telling my legs to walk. To the dresser. Back to the bed. My reflection catches in the mirror - pale face, wild eyes, hands shaking.
March. What happened in March?
Then it hits me.
