“But the banking world has moved online, Mother,” he said, carrying the bowl toward the kitchen. “Things are far more complicated now.”
He walked into the kitchen, his leather loafers squeaking slightly on the linoleum.
I picked up the remaining silver forks from the lace tablecloth and set them down again. My black reading glasses remained on the edge of the dining room table, right next to the salt cellar.
I walked out to the back hallway, planning to check the latch on the porch door before the afternoon chill set in.
The house was quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator.
As I reached the door, I realized I had left my glasses on the table and would not be able to read the labels on the storage boxes without them.
I turned back, my soft-soled shoes making no sound on the thick wool runner in the hallway.
A low chuckle came from the living room, followed by the murmur of Robert’s voice. He was speaking on his mobile phone, his tone dropping into a fast, eager whisper that I had never heard him use with me.
“Honey, it is done, I transferred all the money to your account, just like we planned.”
I stopped in the middle of the hallway, my hand hovering inches from the wallpaper.
“Two hundred and eighty thousand,” Robert said, and I heard the rustle of paper as he turned a page. “She will not even look at the statements until the end of the quarter, and by then the papers for the house in Chatham will be signed.”
A woman laughed on the other end of the line, her high-pitched voice carrying through the small receiver.
“I told you she wouldn’t notice,” Robert said, his voice rising slightly with excitement. “She still thinks online banking is some kind of magic trick.”
