The Man Beside My Fireplace

"I knew about the rentals," she said.

"I knew about the money going to Connor's account.

I told myself it was — I told myself you would understand eventually.

That it was helping us." She looked up.

"I told myself it wasn't really hurting you."

"It was fourteen thousand dollars, Madison."

"I know."

"It was my house.

My signature.

My decision to make."

"I know." Her voice broke on the second word, just slightly.

"I know that, Mom."

Richard had not spoken since Connor arrived.

He was sitting with his hands on his knees, looking at the floor, and for the first time that morning he looked like what he actually was — a man who had gone further than he had meant to go and was now in a room where that fact could no longer be managed or explained away.

Connor leaned forward.

His voice dropped to something quieter and more deliberate.

"What would it take," he said carefully, "to handle this privately?

Within the family?"

I looked at him for a moment.

"Are you asking me what it would cost to make this go away?"

"I'm asking what would make this right." He spread his hands.

"We can pay it back.

All of it.

Today, if you need it."

Richard nodded quickly.

"That was always an option.

We would have discussed it—"

"Nobody discussed anything with me," I said.

"That is the entire problem."

I closed the folder.

I picked it up from the counter and held it at my side.

"I'm not going to make a decision about next steps in this room this afternoon," I said.

"I'm going to take a few days.

I'm going to speak with an attorney." I looked at each of them in turn — Richard, Connor, Madison last.

"And I need all three of you to understand that what happens next depends entirely on whether anyone in this room says something untrue to me between now and then."

Connor started to speak.

I held up one hand.

"I'm not finished." I looked at Madison.

"I need you to stay.