“But what about me?”
“I’m sorry, Flor,” said Isabelle, feeling a stab of guilt. Her sister was very alone. Someone would take advantage of her. But that wasn’t Isabelle’s responsibility—was it? “I’m going to New York. I can’t let anything stop me.”
“Not even me?” said Flora.
“Not even you,” said Isabelle.
67
Regan & François
The notifications had been pingingfor twenty minutes before Regan finally woke, immediately grabbing her phone. François was upset—no, more than upset. Apoplectic. His messages came in rapid succession, each one more urgent than the last:
My darling, the lawyers need another payment today or they will freeze my accounts completely
Please, my love, just €2,000 more and then we can be together forever
Regan, are you there? I am frightened. These people are dangerous
Regan’s hands shook as she read. She’d already sent him everything—her savings, the emergency fund, every cent Matt had sent for child support. Her bank accounts were empty, her credit cards maxed out. But François needed her. Who would Regan even be, without him?
She’d never even asked about the Cyprus trip. As soon as hernew phone started working, she got a beautiful note from François, who still loved her. And she couldn’t stop responding, though she hated herself, she hated herself.
Regan stood in the hallway, caught between the sound of her daughter making dinner in the kitchen and François’s messages on her screen. She thought of Flora’s piggy bank—a ceramic elephant they’d painted together at the Oglethorpe Mall in Savannah. Flora had been saving for a computer of her own for months, carefully adding her allowance and birthday money to the childish elephant-shaped bank.
The girls’ room was cluttered, too small for teenagers. Regan saw a high-heeled shoe overturned next to Isabelle’s bed. Library books stacked neatly next to a reading lamp. A pair of beaded earrings, a tarot card (“The Tower”), a half-empty glass of juice. The elephant sat on the dresser, heavy with coins and carefully folded bills.
If she said no to François, he would vanish, and Regan would have to admit that she had ruined her life. She clung to the story that she and this man were building a future, even as a part of her knew that he had tricked her and disabled her phone while she was in a Turkish ravine…a part of her knew (of course she knew) he was a mirage.
She unscrewed the rubber stopper on the elephant’s belly.
“Mom?”
Regan spun around, the bank still in her hands, bills scattered on Flora’s dresser. Her daughter stood in the doorway, her expression confused, then stunned, then steely.
“You’re stealing from me,” said Flora, flatly.
“Don’t be so dramatic. I’ll pay you back,” Regan said quickly, stuffing the bills into her pocket.
“Mom, I showed you all my research and interviews with romance scammers! I know how hard it is to break things off, butthis person isn’t real, Mom! You see that, Mom, right? I’m the only one you have left. And you’re stealing from me.”
“It’s not stealing, Flora. I’m your mother.”
“Oh, Mom,” said Flora. Regan saw that Flora’s empathy was turning to disgust. Regan’s phone buzzed. She looked down automatically. “Go ahead, Mom,” Flora said quietly. “Go ahead and answer your invisible boyfriend while you’re holding my money.”
Regan’s thumb hovered over the phone. François was waiting. He needed her. He loved her. If he was fake, all that remained of Regan was shame.
The phone buzzed again:Time is running out
“I have to help him…” Regan clutched Flora’s ceramic elephant bank.
“This is love?” Flora asked.
Regan looked at her baby daughter, saw a precious light in her eyes go dark.
She fled to the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Her hands shook as she counted Flora’s money—€180. She sent François a message:
I found some more money. Heading to bank now, will send €180.
