“Walter,” she said as soon as she heard the front door close. “What does he mean, ‘it’s not getting any better’?”
Walter glared at her.
“You can’t keep these things from me, Walter. Faye said you’ve been talking to Teddy about the house. What’s going on? I’m worried and I want to help.” He turned away and looked out the window, and Sylvia tried to steady herself for the news.
After a moment he pulled out his desk chair and sat, dropping his head into his hands. “I’m sorry, Sylvia. I’m so, so sorry.” He rubbed at his temples and wiped a tear away.
Sylvia was at a sudden loss for words. She’d only seen him cry once before, and those were tears of joy, the first time he held Judith as a baby. This was something entirely different and he was scaring her. She braced herself.
“I’ve been worried about our finances. The club has put us in a hole, so many bills, the loan, the mortgage, salaries, taxes. We should be doing better by now.” He wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands. “I panicked.”
“What are you talking about? What do you mean you panicked?” she said, so confused about where this conversation was going.
“I tried to get ahead, to come out on top.” He pressed his hands against the side of his head, then he looked up at her, his eyes desperate. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“For what, Walter?” she was impatient now.
He looked at her again, as if he were willing to do anything not to speak the words. “I lost a lot of money to the wrong guys.”
“No, Walter. Not gambling? Again? You promised me.”
“I thought I could win big, give us the boost we needed.”
Sylvia stood behind the chair opposite, trying to understand.
“How long has this been going on?” she asked.
“Last week was the first time in years, and I got hit hard.”
“How hard?”
“Thirty,” he said in a whisper.
“Thirty?” she repeated. “You’ve done much worse.”
“Thirty thousand.”
Sylvia grabbed the back of the chair for support, feeling as if her knees might buckle under her.
“I went back last Thursday. I was desperate, I didn’t know what to do; I didn’t want to worry you. I tried to win it back.”
“And?” she asked, knowing the answer. Her life, their life, was flashing before her eyes.
“No,” he said shaking his head. “No, it’s worse. I doubled down. I lost it all. Sixty thousand dollars.”
He was sobbing now, and Sylvia couldn’t console him. She couldn’t even look at him. They didn’t have that kind of money in the bank; they’d poured their savings into opening the club. She walked to the other side of the room, her heart pounding in her chest. How could he do this to her, to Judith? They’d be ruined. They’d never come back from this.
“We’re going to have to sell the house,” he said, as if trying to regain some composure now, to see some path forward. “And the club,” he went on.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sylvia said. She needed to think, to absorb what he was telling her, and she couldn’t do that if he was talking.
“We’ll go to the desert,” he went on, as if she weren’t there and he was just spewing out ideas to himself. “It’s cheaper there.”
“We’re not going to the desert. We’re not selling the house. We’re not selling the club.”
“You don’t understand,” he said. “We don’t have a choice. I have to pay them, or—”
“Or what?”
