Ethan paced by my living room window, his heavy leather shoes squeaking against the hardwood floor of my Oak Creek apartment. I held my ceramic tea mug with both hands, watching the steam rise in the cold morning light. Outside, a bitter Chicago wind was already shaking the last leaves from the maple trees, and we were running out of time.
“The caterer needs the draft by noon, Mom,” he said.
He adjusted his silver watch strap, pulling the metal band tight against his wrist before letting it snap back. He was forty-five now, a corporate manager who spoke in rapid, defensive bursts, but he would not look me in the eye.
I rubbed the gold wedding band on my right hand, where I had moved it after my husband passed away.
“Nineteen thousand dollars is a very specific number, Ethan,” I said.
He stopped pacing and stared out at the gray street. “It covers the main ballroom deposit and the dining room surcharge. We just need this one last check to make everything right, Mom.”
“That is almost my entire savings,” I said, choosing my words with deliberate care. “Everything I kept aside after your father died.”
“We will pay you back as soon as the wedding gifts come in,” he said, his voice rising slightly as he turned to face me.
He did not look at my face, and his fingers kept twitching against his watch. I wanted to believe him, because I still clung to the quiet hope that if I stayed silent and gave him what he needed, he would finally show me some respect.
The downtown branch of the bank smelled of wet winter coats and floor wax. I stood at the high marble counter at two in the afternoon, my pen hovering over the blue line of the withdrawal slip.
The teller, a young woman named Sarah who had handled my school district retirement deposits for fifteen years, stopped counting her cash and looked at me.
“Are you sure about this, Stephanie?” she asked.
“I am sure, Sarah,” I said.
