I’m running late for work, but this is far more important. If somebody stole money from our bank account, I need to do something about it ASAP. So I call the bank and end up on hold with them for fifteen minutes while I glance at my watch and text one of my coworkers to cover me at a meeting that I am definitely going to miss.

“Hello, this is Serena, your customer service representative,” a perky female voice pipes up.

“Hi.” I clear my throat. “I need your help regarding some money that is missing from my bank account.”

“Oh dear,” Serena says. I vehemently agree with that sentiment. “Let me see what I can find out for you.”

I have to hand over all my bank information, and then I get to wait as I listen to the sound of keys tapping in the background. And then more keys tapping. And then more waiting. “Sorry the system is so slow today,” Serena says cheerfully. “It’s just one of those days, you know?”

I’m not in the mood to make small talk while I’m trying to figure out why money is missing from my bank account. “Uh-huh.”

“Ah, okay!” she says triumphantly. “The withdrawal was made two days ago by Enzo Accardi, who is also on the account. Is that your husband?”

“Yes, but…” I frown. “My husband didn’t…”

Did he?

“Is he saying he didn’t withdraw the money?” she asks me.

“No. I mean, I just… I thought he would’ve told me. But…”

Serena seems like she’s at a loss for words. I suppose family drama isn’t her job. “Oh.”

“Thank you for your help,” I mumble. “I think I… I better have a talk with my husband. He probably… Maybe he forgot.”

“I’m sure he forgot,” she says in a super patronizing voice. “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

Yes, you can tell me why my husband took a bunch of money out of our account without saying a damn word to me about it.

I hang up the phone and stare at the screen for a good minute. I am now extremely late for work, but I can’t focus on anything until I call Enzo and ask him what happened with that money. And I’m not sure why the thought of doing that makes me so uneasy. I trust him. If he took that money out of the account, he had a good reason.

Finally, I select his name from my favorites. If he’s working, he often doesn’t answer his phone, but ever since the incident with Nico getting suspended, he’s been answering immediately.

“Millie?” he says. “What is wrong?”

I rarely call him during the day, so he recognizes this is not a social call. “There’s money missing from our checking account.”

I had been hoping for a string of angry Italian curses. But the way he becomes dead silent confirms that this is not news to him. Even if Serena hadn’t already confirmed it.

“I had written a check for three hundred dollars,” I continue when he doesn’t seem to be commenting. “And the check bounced.”

“Oh.” He sucks in a breath. “So what happened?”

“Suzette lent me the money,” I say.

“Well, that is good.”

“So I called the bank to figure out where the money went,” I go on, “and they told me that you withdrew a thousand dollars.”

More silence. He’s not planning on making this easy for me.

“So,” I say, “did you?”

There’s another long silence. “I did,” he says eventually.

“Okay. That seems like an awful lot of cash to withdraw from our joint bank account without telling me.”

“Yes…” He’s silent for a few more beats, and I can’t help but think to myself that it sounds like he’s stalling while he makes up a lie. “I am so sorry. We were short this month, and I needed the money to replace some equipment that broke. I thought I would have it back in the account before you noticed. I’ll have it back tomorrow.”

“Some equipment that broke?” I repeat.

“Yes, I need new lawn aerator and rototiller. Is expensive.”

I swear, sometimes I think he’s just making up these words. But I guess it sounds like a reasonable excuse, so I choose to believe him. It makes sense that if his equipment broke, he’d need to replace it immediately.

It’s better than the alternative, which is that my husband is lying to me.

THIRTY-FIVE

Nico is sneaking out.

Or at least that’s what it seems like when I hear the back door opening on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Thank God we never bothered to oil the hinges, because I can hear that door opening and closing all the way across town. I toss aside my book and reach the back door just in time to catch Nico before he takes off.

“Excuse me, mister.” I clear my throat. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He looks up at me without a trace of guilt on his face. “Spencer’s house. You said I could go whenever I want.”

I did say that. But I thought he had been banished from Janice’s home.

“Spencer’s mom is okay with that?” I ask.

“She said it’s okay as long as we stay in the backyard.”

I’m relieved. I hated it when Janice said Nico couldn’t play with her son, so I’m glad he’s back in her good graces. Apparently, he’s not allowed inside her immaculate house, but that’s understandable.

“Fine,” I say. “Just be home by dinner.”

Nico nods, then hurries off in the direction of his friend’s house. I was so focused on my son’s imminent escape that I hadn’t noticed my husband in the corner of the backyard. Not that it’s unusual to see Enzo in the backyard—it’s his favorite place—but he isn’t working out there. Instead, he’s talking quietly on his phone, a smile playing on his lips.

Who is he talking to?

I wave at him to get his attention. He blinks a few times when he notices me, and the smile momentarily drops off his face, but he recovers quickly and waves back. He murmurs a few more unintelligible words into the phone, then shoves it into the pocket of his worn blue jeans.

“Millie.” He jogs across the lawn to talk to me. “I have very good news.”

“Oh?”

“Yes! There’s a potential client with two large estates that need services. Very big job. This is very good.”