“Phil said that?”
“Phil said a lot of things. Then Karen said if he didn’t let her mother sleep in the basement for three months, she’d tell his mother about the boat.” He almost smiled. “So. Basement.”
I looked at the papers on the bed.
For four years, Greg had handled the money. I’d let him. I’d been too tired to look. I’d told myself that was trust.
It wasn’t. It was just me not wanting to know. Just like him.
“I should have asked about that twenty-one hundred dollars,” I said. “The first time. I should have made you open the laptop back up.”
He looked at me.
“I closed it on purpose,” he said. “That’s on me.”
“And I let you,” I said. “That’s on me.”
He came back upstairs that night.
We went to the counselor on Thursday. And the Thursday after that. And every Thursday through Christmas. Some sessions, we didn’t say much. Some sessions, I said things I’d been holding since the layoff, and he just sat there and took them.
