Part 3 — The Total
I read the number from the bottom of the statement in the glow of the porch lights up and down the block.
“Twenty-seven thousand, three hundred fifty dollars. Since January. Ten transfers.”
Rod sat down on the curb with his head in his hands. The shuttle was gone, and the empty street was bright with neighbors in bathrobes.
Sharon was crying on my mothers blue luggage. She said, in a very small voice, that she had been told it was a church quilting trip, and that Rod had insisted she wear the sunhat because it was a surprise gift from Gwen.
“I never knew,” she said to Arnie. “I swear to you. I thought Gwen was meeting us at the ship.”
Arnie stood very straight beside the tow truck. “I believe you, Sharon,” he said, quietly. “I will always believe you.”
Thirty years of balancing other peoples books had taught me one thing, which is that the numbers always come out the same twice, and a lie never does.
I called the credit union fraud line at six that morning, the minute it opened. A young man named Mr. Alvarez listened without interrupting. He explained that a transfer made with another persons password is an unauthorized transfer, and that the bank would open a claim and credit the money back while they investigated.
By Monday afternoon, the account balance was back where it should have been, minus the cruise and the tickets, which the travel agency agreed to refund once I provided the statement.
Rod came to the kitchen on Sunday night. He said he had spent the money out of a feeling that he had nothing, was nothing, and that the only way to feel like somebody was to give someone else a trip.
I told him that was a very sad sentence, and that I would not pay for it.
The Oregon lawyer I saw on Tuesday explained that a judge could count what he wasted. I filed. He moved into his brothers spare room in Grants Pass, and he began meeting with a counselor on Thursday evenings.
The refund came through in eleven days. Nineteen thousand dollars went back into my retirement, and the rest was recovered over the following months.
I took my mothers blue luggage up to the attic. Then I took it down again.
In September, I packed it with a sundress, three books and the brochure from the fridge. Sharon and Arnie waved from their driveway as I backed out.
I drove six hours to Cannon Beach, rented the house with the blue shutters, and sat on the porch with the ocean in front of me. I had never been so far from Reno.