“Why didn’t you call me?” I said.
Nobody answered.
“Mom,” I said. “You knew in—when? When did you know you’d lose the house?”
My mother looked at her hands.
“March,” she said quietly.
“March.”
“We thought we could fix it,” my mother said. “Your father thought he could get the money back. The man from church said the condos would sell in the spring. Then the summer.”
“Did they?”
My mother shook her head.
Ezoic
“He’s gone,” she said. “The man from church. He moved to Costa Rica in August. The FBI called us in September. There are forty other families.”
Ezoic
I closed my eyes.
“Seven months,” I said. “You knew for seven months. You knew you were going to lose the house. And you didn’t call me.”
“We didn’t want to bother you,” my mother said.
I laughed.
I didn’t mean to. It just came out.
