“And he said he’d take care of everything. All I had to do was give him the account info.”
I’m on the brink of crawling out of my own skin when Mom’s eyes meet mine. For the first time since I found our empty bank account, there’s a flicker of concern. Like I’m watching her realize just how deep the shit we’re standing in is.
“That was two weeks ago. And—” She fishes a piece of paper out of her purse. “This is his number. We haven’t talked since he transferred the money because he’s on a business trip. He’ll call when he gets home.” She looks at me. “He will call, Rue. Just because Nash—” My eyes dare her to finish that thought. She chooses wisely and does not, looking back to Barry. “We’ve been planning his visit. I told him about the French-inspired wines of the region—there’s a great chardonnay aged in French barrels I know he’ll love. He wouldn’t just not call. It doesn’t make sense.” Back to me: “It doesn’t make sense, Rue. You see how ridiculous that sounds, right?”
On the armrests of our chairs, I take her hand in mine and give it a squeeze. I can’t lie to her, so I say nothing. He’s gone. I know it in my gut. Andre is long gone with all our money. She’ll never talk to him again.
We both look at Barry who blinks at least a dozen more times before unscrunching his face and clearing his throat. “I see.”
“Now what?” I ask, pushing my bangs off to the side.
He blows out a long breath that sounds like a dragged outheeeeeeee.“Not good.”
I straighten. “Hownot good?”
He bares his teeth and rapid fires a few hundred blinks before repeating, “Notgood.”
“We can just call him,” Mom offers, already pulling out her cellphone and dialing the number. “Get this straightened out. He’ll explain everything. Rue’s just overreacting like she always does. Worrying for no?—”
The recording for the disconnected number fills the room and crashes her expression.
Barry blinks.
“Now what?” I repeat. “How can we get our money back?”
He clears his throat. “We’ll do an investigation—and you’ll need to file a police report—but ...”
“But what?” I demand.
“But cases like this rarely end favorably.” He gives a pained smile. “He was given the account number. His phone is deactivated. My guess is the data from his dating profile will lead us nowhere—probably an IP address in India.”
“So we just-just-just what?” I release my mom’s hand, make two fists, and slam them on the desk. I don’t have a short temper, but this is insanity; I can’t stay quiet. “Have no goddamn money? It’s just-just gone?”
“Rue,” Mom says in a hushed voice. “Calm down.”
“Calm down?” I laugh maniacally at the ludicrous suggestion.
I have a little money in a retirement account, a few thousand dollars in my personal savings, and far less than that in my checking account. I’ll never be able to maintain the lifestyle Bennie’s used to. Her tuition. The new roof we just had put on the store. The business has already been struggling—we might lose it. Our house.
“All of our money is gone, Mom.Gone.The money that pays us. That pays for Bennie’s school. That will pay for her college.” Tears well up in my eyes that I blink dry. I will not cry over this. Not now. “Did you give him your money too?”
She says nothing; she did. The business moneyandher personal accounts are empty. Her savings. I can’t even bring myself to ask how much. Dad saved nearly half of every cent he earned, and she handed it over to an internet boyfriend.
Barry blinks, and I have half a mind to rip the eyelids off his face and eat them like a crazed cannibal.
He slides a form across the desk, requesting our contact information and everything Mom can recall about Andre. I fill it out—front and back—but every letter I write drains a little more hope out of me.
“We’ll be in touch,” Barry says when we’re finished, swiping the paper from the desk before waddling out of his office.
It’s the same thing the police officer says when I finish filing the police report.
In the parking lot in my station wagon, the adrenaline fades. Fast. I’m exhausted. And angry. So angry. I’ve given my life to this business in hopes of giving us all solid ground to stand on, yet here we are. Broke and on ground so shaky we might as well be living on a fault line.
Through the windshield, the sky is a perfect shade of blue and in no way matches how horrible this is. It should be filled with locusts or spitting hail or splitting wide open.
“I’ve seen you do a lot of things, but this, Mom?” My voice sounds as defeated as my whole body feels. “This takes the cake.”
“I think I believed him,” she says.
