Chapter 8: Everything From the Beginning
He talked for two hours.
I sat across from him at the long table in the dining room and I listened.
I did not interrupt.
I did not react to every piece of it the way I wanted to.
I let him talk until there was nothing left.
The business deal had been a small commercial property — a strip of retail units on the east side of Phoenix.
Caden had found it, believed in it, and gone to Bonnie for advice.
Bonnie had introduced him to Dennis Farrow.
Farrow had lent him the eighty thousand at an interest rate that was legal but barely.
The retail deal had collapsed when a larger developer bought the surrounding block and the tenants walked.
Caden had been servicing the interest — twelve hundred dollars a month — from the household account for eighteen months.
"That's almost twenty-two thousand dollars," I said.
"I know."
"From the account I fund."
"Yes."
"Without telling me."
He looked at his hands.
"I thought I could fix it before you noticed."
"And your mother knew the whole time."
"She told me not to tell you.
She said you'd use it against me."
I looked at him for a long moment.
"Caden.
Do you hear yourself?
She told you not to tell your wife that you had borrowed money against her income.
And you listened to her."
"I know how it sounds."
"I don't think you do," I said.
"Because if you did, you wouldn't have let it go on for eighteen months."
He was quiet.
"I'm going to pay off Farrow," I said.
"Not because I owe him anything.
Because I want him gone and I want no claim — real or imagined — anywhere near this property or this family.
My attorney will handle the transaction.
Farrow will sign a full release."
"Taylor—"
"I'm not finished," I said.
"After that, I'm going to have our household finances separated.
Completely.
You will have an account in your name.
I will have an account in mine.
Any shared expenses will be agreed upon in writing.
If you want to make a business investment, you will tell me first.
Every time.
Without exception."
He nodded slowly.
"And your mother," I said, "will not be in this house.
Not until I decide otherwise.
If that changes, it will be my decision.
Not yours.
Not hers."
"That's fair," he said.
It came out quietly, like he meant it.
I looked at him.
At the man I had married in a small ceremony in Prescott with my mother crying in the front row and Bonnie sitting in the back with her arms folded.
At the man who had let his mother run his conscience for six years while I paid for everything and said nothing.
"I haven't decided what I want," I said.
"About us.
I need time."
"I know," he said.
"But I need you to do one thing first."
"What?"
"I need you to go across the street and get your things.
And then I need you to call your mother and tell her yourself — not me, not a letter, you — that you know what she did.
That you know about Gerald's will.
That you know about Farrow.
And that you are not going to pretend anymore."
He was quiet for a long time.
"She won't take it well," he said.
"No," I said.
"She won't."
He picked up his phone.
He stood.
He walked to the front door and paused with his hand on the frame.
"Taylor," he said without turning around.
"My father was right about you."
He left before I could answer.
May you like
I sat alone at the table for a moment.
Then I heard the back door open and my mother's voice, and Donovan's laugh, and I got up and went to meet them.
