Arthur looked over the top of his gold-rimmed reading glasses, his brow furrowing into three deep lines. He folded the newspaper twice, placing it precisely on his knees.
“Ben is a sensible young man,” he said, his voice carrying the dry weight of a courtroom. “He has been assisting me with some personal matters.”
“He won’t show me his ledger, and Mother is hiding the mail,” I said. “What is going on in this house?”
He took off his glasses, letting them dangle from the black cord around his neck.
“Some decisions are made to keep this house quiet, Cathy,” he said, his eyes drilling into mine. “You would do well to respect that.”
I turned toward the hallway, the silver ring on my finger digging into my palm as I clenched my fist.
My mother was in the hallway, carrying a stack of folded linen towels toward the closet. She didn’t look at me as she passed, her eyes fixed on the blank wall ahead of her.
“Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes,” she said.
