I pulled my knitted shawl tighter around my shoulders. “Caleb, please. Your sister is finally happy.”
“His registered business address on Market Avenue is listed as abandoned, Mom,” Caleb said. “The windows are boarded up, and there is a notice from the utility company taped to the glass.”
“He said he was restructuring,” I said, looking down at the copy of the Oak Ridge contract in my lap.
“People do not board up their offices for a restructure,” Caleb said, his knuckles tapping harder. “Something is wrong with his finances.”
“Drop it, Caleb,” I said, though my own words felt thin and hollow in the dark.
He stood up and walked down the steps into the yard, leaving me alone under the porch light.
I looked down at the venue deposit sheet on the wicker table, my eyes fixing on the blank signature line where Arthur’s name should have been.
By eleven the next morning, the sun hit the dining room table at a sharp, cold angle. Caleb laid the blue family ledger open between us, its fabric cover worn thin at the corners
