“You gave your supposedly dead mother thirty-eight thousand dollars?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“What was it like?”
Amber closed her eyes.
“She called.”
Ruth leaned back.
“When?”
“August.”
Marcus looked at her.
“You’ve been talking to her since August?”
“No. Not talking. Not really.”
“How many times?”
Amber pressed her fingers to her forehead.
“Maybe six.”
Marcus stared.
“Six.”
“Seven. I don’t know.”
He turned away.
Ruth watched him walk three steps to the file cabinet and back.
It was how he had paced as a teenager when he was trying not to cry.
“What did she want?”
Amber’s voice dropped.
“Money.”
Ruth was not surprised.
Marcus was.
“For what?”
“She said she was losing her house.”
Ruth frowned.
Loretta owned a small duplex in a neighborhood on the east side.
At least she had when Ruth last knew.
“Was she?”
Amber nodded.
“I think so.”
“You think?”
“She had taxes due. Repairs. Medical bills.”
Marcus looked at Ruth.
“Do you know anything about this?”
“No.”
Amber snapped, “Of course she doesn’t. She hasn’t spoken to my mother in years.”
“Two years,” Ruth said.
