Chapter 6: The Exit Plan
Grandma and I stayed at the kitchen table.
We heard Dad's voice from the living room — low, steady, too quiet to make out words.
He was on the phone for a long time.
Then quiet.
Then another call.
I turned my mug in circles on the table.
"Grandma."
"Yes."
"Are you still going to dinner?"
She looked at me.
For a moment I thought she might say no — that the whole evening had been ruined, that Thomas would have to wait, that everything had gotten too complicated.
Then she looked down at her hands.
The tissue was still in her fingers.
She'd been holding it since the bedroom.
She set it on the table.
"Yes," she said.
"I am."
"Good."
"Your grandfather would have told me to go." She smoothed the front of her dress.
"He was practical like that."
"What was he like?"
She smiled.
Not the bright smile from the mirror — something quieter.
"Stubborn.
Funny when he didn't mean to be.
He burned everything he cooked and refused to admit it." She paused.
"He loved me very loudly.
I used to wish he'd be quieter about it.
Now I'd give anything to hear it one more time."
I didn't say anything.
There wasn't anything to say.
Dad came back into the kitchen.
He sat down.
Put his phone on the table face-down.
"I called my lawyer," he said.
"And the bank."
"Tonight?" I said.
"The bank has an emergency line.
And my lawyer owes me." He exhaled slowly.
"The account Michael mentioned — she opened it fourteen months ago.
Savings account, different bank, under her name only.
She's been transferring money into it in small amounts.
Small enough not to trigger anything automatic."
"How much is in it?" Grandma asked.
Dad told her.
Grandma's expression didn't change.
But her hands, folded on the table, pressed together a little tighter.
"The lawyer says I have options," Dad continued.
"Because the money came from our joint account, and we're still legally married, it's considered marital assets.
She can't just take it and disappear without consequences."
"Can she try?" I asked.
"She can try." He looked at me.
"That's why I needed to move tonight.
Before she does."
He picked up his phone.
Pulled up something.
Turned the screen toward me.
It was a text message thread.
Melissa's name at the top.
The last message was from forty minutes ago.
*I need more time.
Don't do anything yet.
I'll explain everything.*
Dad had not replied.
"She doesn't know you called Michael," I said.
"No."
"She doesn't know you know about the account."
"No."
Grandma looked at the screen.
Then at Dad.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to let my lawyer handle the account tonight.
And tomorrow morning, I'm going to sit down with Melissa and give her one chance to tell me the truth herself." He set the phone down.
"If she takes it, that matters.
If she doesn't —" He stopped.
His phone buzzed.
All three of us looked at it.
The name on the screen wasn't Melissa.
It was a number I didn't recognize.
But underneath it, in the preview line, were four words that made Dad go very still.
May you like
*She's here.
Come now.*
