Chapter 5: The Fourteenth
I didn't say anything the next morning.
Daniel made coffee.
He made eggs.
He asked if I wanted toast and I said yes and he put two slices in.
We sat across from each other at the kitchen table the same way we had for eleven years and I watched his face and tried to find something in it that I had missed.
I didn't find anything.
That was almost worse.
He left for work at eight-fifteen.
I stood at the window and watched his car back out of the driveway.
Then I sat down and called my sister.
Patrice is four years older than me and has never once in her life told me what I wanted to hear when the truth was available.
That is mostly why I called her.
"Four hundred dollars," she said.
"Every month.
Same date."
"For at least a year.
Maybe longer.
I only went back twelve months."
"And you don't recognize the account number."
"No."
"Could be his mother," Patrice said.
"I know."
"Could be something else."
"I know that too."
She was quiet for a moment.
"Are you going to ask him?"
"I'm going to find out what it is first."
"That's not what I asked."
"Patrice."
"Okay," she said.
"Okay.
How are you going to find out?"
I had been thinking about that since three in the morning.
"The transfers come from our joint account.
I have full access.
The receiving account number is on the statement.
I can call the bank and ask if they can tell me anything about it."
"They won't tell you much."
"They might tell me enough."
I called the bank at nine.
The woman I spoke to was polite and careful.
She confirmed that the transfers were outgoing from our joint account, authorized by the secondary account holder — Daniel — and that she was not able to share information about the receiving account as it was held at a different institution.
"Is there anything else I can help you with?" she asked.
"No," I said.
"Thank you."
I hung up.
Secondary account holder.
Authorized by Daniel.
I pulled up the text messages from the unknown number again.
I had not deleted them.
*Ask him about the money he sends every month.
Ask him where it goes.*
Someone had known about those transfers.
Someone had known and had chosen last night — the night of the receipts, the night of the backyard confrontation — to tell me.
That was not a coincidence.
I typed back a single message to the unknown number.
*Who is this?*
The reply came in less than a minute.
*Someone who thinks you deserve to know the truth.
Meet me.
Coffee.
Tuesday.
I'll find you.*
I read it twice.
Then Daniel's name appeared on my screen — an incoming call.
I let it ring twice before I answered.
"Hey," he said.
"Just checking in.
You seemed quiet this morning."
"I'm fine," I said.
"Just tired."
"Last night was a lot."
"It was."
"Mom texted me," he said.
"She wants to talk.
I told her not yet."
"Okay."
A pause.
"Are we okay?"
I looked at the bank statement still open on the table in front of me.
"Yes," I said.
"We're okay."
May you like
After I hung up, I sat very still for a long time.
Tuesday was three days away.
