Simon’s breath slumped into a snore, and sleep finally wooed her away, transporting her into a dreamy Emerald City with a lion on her right, scarecrow on her left, as she searched for the wizard. She would have stayed right there in the technicolor Land of Oz, but someone shouted Simon’s name.
She woke to the professor, pounding on their door, and a cry from the crib.
Izzy crawled to the end of the bed, picking Greta up before the tears agitated her husband even more.
Simon reached for his robe and flung open the door. “It’s past midnight!”
“You have to stop this game, Simon.”
“What game?”
Simon tossed a glance toward Izzy, then he slipped into the hallway and closed the door. She patted Greta’s back, and as the baby drifted again to sleep, she strained to hear the conversation between father and son.
“You can’t blame me for that,” Simon said in the hallway, his tone colder than she’d ever heard.
“I know exactly what you’re doing.”
“And what might that be?”
Why didn’t her husband simply tell the professor that he needed to scoot himself out to the backyard instead of waking them up in the middle of the night, accusing Simon of things that simply weren’t true? Whenever she was home—and if the professor continued in his kindnesses to her and Greta—he would be always welcome, but Simon needed to take over as the leading man for their household. All this waiting had done none of them any good. The men would continue to fight and—
“The stakes are too high, Simon.”
“For you, maybe.”
The professor’s voice escalated. “You’d risk losing your wife and daughter for a scheme?”
Her spine tingled with the professor’s question. Simon would never risk losing his family.
“What I do with my wife and child is my business.”
“They are only collateral to you,” the professor said slowly.
“You wouldn’t throw out your granddaughter,” Simon said.
Of course he wouldn’t throw Greta out. Simon would demand the professor leave.
The professor’s groan could have carved a chasm between them. “You don’t even care.”
Greta began to stir again, but Izzy didn’t move, listening for Simon’s reply. “I care plenty.”
“About your horses, maybe.”
“They’re a profitable venture,” Simon said.
No humor accompanied Professor Farrow’s laugh. “You’re gambling away the little money you have.”
“I’m going to sell one of them soon.”
His property—the big windfall—was ahorse? Izzy didn’t know how much a horse was worth, but surely not as much as a house or land. He’d said he owned land, hadn’t he? Real estate.
Then again, ever since Greta was born, her mind was all messed up.
“I don’t want anything to do with your dirty money,” the professor said.
“I’m taking care of it.”
“You are a brilliant man, Simon. One of the smartest I know. But you’re wasting your life. All those years of school, right into the trash.”
