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Hanging up, I tap my phone against my chest. Need money. Need money. Need money.
I glance out the window. It’s starting to rain. Again. Please God don’t make me have to trick-or-treat in the rain.
I end up taking the girls trick-or-treating in the rain.
In ten years of being a mom, I’ve never had to escort them on my own. Nathan’s always been there, and sometimes we’ve gone with other families so it’s like a big party wandering down the street, house to house, door to door.
Tonight it’s no party. It’s cold and drizzly. The girls wear raincoats over their costumes and carry an umbrella to protect their candy. I carry an industrial-size flashlight as we trudge from house to house, the hems of my black cords getting wetter and wetter. I miss Nathan. I feel like half a person without him. I need him back so I can be myself again.
But as I stumble in a puddle I didn’t see, falling to the ground in an embarrassing heap, another thought hits me.
If he doesn’t come back, if he doesn’t want me back, what will happen to me?
What will I do?
More important, who will I be?
Chapter Fourteen
Nathan calls me Friday morning after the girls have gone to school.
He promises to deposit $100 in our account, but that’s all he can do. He’s paid bills and he doesn’t have anything, either, until his next paycheck in a week, but at least some of the creditors and collection agencies should be off our backs.
But that’s not the worst of his news. He’s removing himself from our joint checking account. He says it’s now my account for all my personal expenses, so I have to be careful, can’t spend very much, since he’s not making enough to support us both as he used to. However, he will have the COBRA payment moved to his account.
I listen as he talks, my brow wrinkling as I try to follow everything he’s saying. He’s talking fast, hard, as if he’s prepared a speech and is determined to get through it.
He’s been advised to file for legal separation but hasn’t yet. He says the advice was given to protect me and the girls; that way, the creditors would go after him in the future. Of course, the banks would view our past debt as a joint responsibility, but he’s determined to take care of it as he’s head of the household and the breadwinner.
I close my eyes, listening hard.
The sale of the house will reduce most of our debt, but some miscellaneous bills will still come in, and he’ll take care of the ones he can. He knows he told me I shouldn’t get a job but thinks now I should look for something, even if it’s just part-time. He also reminds me that the girls and I have to move by November 29, just days after Thanksgiving. I’ll need to be prepared. Have I started looking for a new place yet? Do I need him to fly out and apartment hunt with us, or is this something I can take care of on my own?
As he keeps talking, I sink onto the side of the bed and then slowly, numbly, lie back. I stare at the ceiling as his voice washes over me in unrelenting waves.
He’s divorcing me.
He just hasn’t said it yet.
Saturday I wake up to high, thin clouds and hints of blue sky. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll be a nice day.
And then I remember.
Nathan needs to put money into our—my—checking account, but he probably hasn’t been able to do it yet. He’s been advised to file for a legal separation but fortunately hasn’t done that, either. He’s promised to send us what he can, but there isn’t much; he’s not making what he’d expected, as apparently the company is giving an end-of-year bonus instead of a bonus up front.
Last night I was too shocked to cry. This morning I’m still numb, but I’m also getting angry.
I have three children. We have three children. What are we supposed to do? How could he go work for a company that refuses to pay what they initially offered? Why doesn’t he just come home and look for a job here?
Tears start up in my eyes, but I refuse to give in to them. I’m tired of feeling bad. Tired of feeling bad about myself. Maybe I do have a spending problem, an impulse control problem, but I’m not a destructive person. I’m not a cruel person. I care about others. I try to help others. I really do.
Furiously, I rub at my eyes and then climb out of bed to splash cold water on my face. I am not going to cry. I am not going to fall apart.
I scrape my hair back and put on my pink Juicy sweats to head downstairs, where I discover the girls eating candy straight from their treat buckets. Butterfinger and Milky Way wrappers litter the floor. I love those candy bars, too. Also Baby Ruth, Snickers, Kit Kat, Reese’s. In fact, if I had a bucket of candy, I’d be eating all of it right now.
Of course, I don’t tell them that. I don’t want them to end up like me. “Girls, candy for breakfast? Absolutely not. Give me your treat buckets. I’m putting them away.”
Tori moves to give me her basket, but not before she sticks another fat Tootsie Roll in her mouth.
“Jemma? Brooke?” I extend my hand impatiently. “Come on, hand them over or I’ll throw it all away.”
“But there’s nothing else to eat, Mom,” Jemma answers, licking melted chocolate off her fingertips. “We’re out of bread, and you don’t buy Pop-Tarts anymore.”
I pinch the tight muscles in my shoulders. Lord, I need coffee bad. “What’s wrong with cereal?”
Brooke rises to give me her treat bucket. “We don’t have any milk.”
“We have milk. We always have milk.” I open the fridge and reach in for the organic 1 percent milk carton, but as I lift it, it’s so light that I know it’s empty. Heart falling, temper rising, I turn to face the girls. “Who left an empty carton in the fridge?”
The girls just stare at me.
“Well, someone did.”
The girls just stare at me some more.
“Well?” I wait, hand on my hip. “Annika wasn’t here, so you can’t blame her.”
Jemma closes her eyes. “I did. I drank it. I was thirsty this morning. Okay?”
Okay, one mystery solved. I toss the carton. “Why didn’t you just throw it away?”
She opens her eyes a little and peeks at me. “Because I didn’t want you mad.”
“Why would I be mad?”
The girls wiggle a little on the floor. None of them says anything. Now I am mad. “Well?”
“Because you have no money,” Brooke whispers. “I heard you on the phone yesterday talking to Dad. You said we have no money and you don’t know what we’re going to do.”
I sit on one of the miserably uncomfortable counter stools, the wrought-iron back digging into my skin. The girls look at me and wait. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say next. Do I reassure them? Do I fib? Do I tell the truth that we’re beyond broke?
“Money’s tight right now,” I finally say. “Even though Daddy’s working in Omaha, we have a lot of bills. We owe a lot of people money.”
“We’re poor?” Jemma asks, incredulous.
I grimace. “We’re not rich.”
Jemma’s expression changes. “That’s why we’re selling the house. It’s not because Dad’s in Omaha. It’s because we’re broke.”
My shoulders lift and fall.
“How did we go broke?” Brooke asks, scooping her crumpled wrappers into her fists.
Again I wonder what to tell them. I wonder what explanation would make the most sense. After a long moment, I take a breath and say, “We spent too much money. We bought too many things.”
Brooke’s gaze meets mine. “So let’s sell them.”
“I wish.”
Jemma sits up on her knees. “We can do it on eBay.”
I’d laugh if I weren’t so damn tired. “I don’t know anything about eBay. I’ve never bought anything on eBay before—”
“That’s not true. You got that Barbie thing for Tori last year on eBay. You know, when you couldn’t get it at Toys R Us.”
