Chapter 2 - THE CARD THAT DECLINED
The grocery card had declined because Eric had maxed it out.
Not because I touched it.
Rachel and I discovered that before nine o’clock.
The joint credit card had a $25,000 limit.
Available credit:
$38.17.
I stared at the online statement.
“How?”
Rachel sat across from me in her office.
“You tell me.”
I scrolled.
Home improvement store.
Gas.
Restaurants.
Auto parts.
Cash-equivalent transactions.
A payment to Mason Ridge Supply.
Several transfers I did not recognize.
Then:
$4,800 to a veterinarian.
Duke.
Mark’s dog.
I closed my eyes.
“Claire?”
“I didn’t know any of this.”
“How often do you review this card?”
“Eric pays it.”
Rachel gave me a look.
“I know how that sounds.”
“Good.”
She continued.
“Do you have separate credit?”
“Yes.”
“Separate bank accounts?”
“Yes. We also have joint checking.”
“Your salary?”
“Deposited into mine. I transfer household money monthly.”
“How much?”
“Eleven thousand.”
Rachel stopped typing.
“Every month?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“About four years.”
Her eyebrows rose.
I immediately became defensive.
“The mortgage is thirty-eight hundred. Then taxes, insurance, utilities, groceries—”
“What is Eric contributing?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
That answer embarrassed me.
His business income varied.
Some months he transferred $3,000.
Sometimes $5,000.
Sometimes nothing.
He told me the business needed cash for materials and payroll.
I believed him.
Rachel asked:
“What does Diane contribute?”
“Nothing.”
“Mark?”
“Nothing.”
“Do they have income?”
“Diane receives Social Security and a small survivor’s pension.”
“What does she do with it?”
I almost laughed.
Apparently I had never asked.
“Mark does occasional work for Eric.”
“Salary?”
“Supposedly.”
“Supposedly?”
“I’ve never seen payroll.”
Rachel closed her notebook.
“Claire, we need a complete financial picture before anyone cancels anything.”
“Fine.”
“We also need your employment attorney or company security involved regarding the laptop.”
“My employer already has IT handling it.”
“Good.”
Then she asked:
“Did anyone threaten you?”
“No.”
“Touch you?”
“No.”
“Prevent you from leaving?”
“No.”
“Do you feel safe returning?”
I thought about Mark’s boot.
Diane smiling.
Eric standing there.
“No.”
That was enough for me.
I rented a furnished apartment for thirty days.
That afternoon Eric texted:
Mom has no money for groceries because you disappeared.
I replied:
There is food in the house. You and Mark are adults.
Immediately:
This is your home too.
Interesting.
At midnight it had been:
You live under this roof.
Now it was:
Your home too.
Then:
Are you seriously abandoning us financially?
I stared at that sentence.
Not:
Are you okay?
Not:
Can we talk about what happened?
Not:
Mark shouldn’t have destroyed your laptop.
Financially.
That was what frightened him.
I saved the message.
Then I opened seven years of bank records.
For the first time in my marriage, I decided to study my own household like one of my clients.
May you like
The numbers were worse than the arguments.
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