THE MILLION-DOLLAR TRAP

PART 1

“That bald woman shouldn’t let herself be seen when we have company.”

I heard my brother Godfrey shouting before I even walked through the door.

I stopped behind the side fence.

My suitcase was still in my hand.

No one knew I was home.

In the backyard, my wife was on her knees.

Phedra was gathering pieces of a broken ceramic plate with her bare hands.

Her head was shaved.

Her face looked hollow.

Her wrists were frighteningly thin.

A bucket of gray water sat beside her.

Her sandals were cracked.

The blue blouse she wore was one I remembered from six years earlier.

My mother’s voice came from inside.

“Pick up the pieces properly, Phedra.”

“If someone cuts themselves, I’m taking it out of your food.”

My fingers tightened around the suitcase handle.

For four years, I had imagined coming home differently.

I imagined Phedra running into my arms.

I imagined my mother crying.

I imagined Godfrey laughing and calling me crazy for arriving without warning.

I imagined seeing the house I had spent four years paying to finish.

I did not imagine my wife crawling across concrete for scraps.

A shutdown at the metalworking plant in Calgary had given us several unexpected weeks off.

Most of the men planned trips.

I bought a ticket home that night.

I wanted to surprise everyone.

Instead, they surprised me.

PART 2

I had spent four winters in Canada.

Twelve-hour shifts.

Night rotations.

Burns on my forearms.

Metal dust in my hair.

Cold that cracked the skin around my knuckles.

I rented a small room with four other workers.

I cooked cheap food.

I wore the same work boots until the soles separated.

I skipped vacations.

I missed birthdays.

I missed two Christmases completely.

Every month, I sent money home.

Sometimes two thousand dollars.

Sometimes twenty-five hundred.

Good months, three thousand.

Every December, I sent extra.

The money went into my mother Selina’s account.

That had been my idea.

She had always managed family money.

I trusted her.

The plan was simple.

Finish renovating the house.

Build savings.

Help Phedra with anything she needed.

Give Godfrey a little support until he found stable work.

Then I would return.

Altogether, I had sent close to one hundred thousand dollars.

I never questioned the transfers.

Every time I asked whether everyone was okay, my mother said yes.

Godfrey said things were improving.

Phedra always smiled.

“I’m fine, my love.”

“Don’t worry.”

Then a few months earlier, she stopped using video.

The connection was bad, she said.

Her phone camera was broken.

She was tired.

Now I knew the truth.