the alarm company didn’t show, it took me hours to figure out that something was wrong. They’d given me a window of noon to two o’clock for the technician to arrive. When he wasn’t there by three, I called the alarm company and got the runaround from the receptionist. At four I called back and demanded to speak to a manager. At six, the manager finally returned my call.
“I’m afraid we’ve had an issue with the payment, so I can’t dispatch a service provider at this time,” the manager, whose name was Shelley, explained.
“Wait a minute. I was told you accept personal checks. I wrote a check for the installation fee and first year of service.”
“Yes. But that check bounced.”
“It—?”
“It bounced. It was not honored by your bank,” Shelley said loudly.
“I know what ‘bounced’ means.”
Why the hell did the check bounce? As of Monday, when I wrote it, there was plenty of money in the account to cover that payment, and more. I was absolutely certain. This woman had to be wrong.
Right?
“No need to get snippy, ma’am,” Shelley said. “As soon as we receive payment, we’ll reinstate service and dispatch the technician.”
“Reinstate service? You mean the alarm’s not working now?”
“The sensors installed in your home should still function—”
“It wasn’t functioning. It was going off for no reason.”
“It will function to the level of installation.”
“You mean it’s still broken.”
“We’re no longer monitoring your signal, sending alerts or calling alerts in to the police. If your motion sensors get tripped, the alarm will go off in your home, but we won’t respond or relay the signal to the police. I’m sure you understand, we can’t provide service we’re not paid for.”
“Look, I don’t know why the check bounced. It must be an error. Can I pay you some other way?”
“Certainly. I can take a valid credit card over the phone.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so? Hold on.”
I went to get my wallet, telling myself to stay calm. But as I read off my Amex number and waited for the charge to go through, I had a sick pit of fear in my stomach. I’d logged into the joint checking account Monday, and there was over a hundred grand in there. Jason couldn’t possibly have spent so much in that short a time. For it to disappear, he would’ve had to move it somewhere. He’d told me I could have the money. But men lied to their soon-to-be-ex-wives all the time. They drained bank accounts, hid cash, ran off with mistresses. Was Jason better than other men? I’d thought so. But I was afraid to find out.
“Ma’am?” Shelley said. “I’m sorry, that card was declined.”
I went cold. I handled our household bills, and I saw to it that credit card balances were paid off monthly. No card of mine was ever declined. Something had happened, and Jason had to be behind it.
“I’m so sorry. Would you mind trying a different one?” I said.
We tried three more cards, and all three were declined. By the end, I was crying. When I hung up, it was nearly seven, getting dark, pouring rain, and the windows were all open. I got up to close them; then I sat at the kitchen table and logged onto my laptop in the darkness of the kitchen. My hands were shaking as I went through all the accounts. The brokerage account, the savings account, his IRA, my IRA—gone, gone, gone. He’d left me destitute, completely. Took every penny he could get his hands on, with one exception. He didn’t touch Hannah’s 529 plan. Her college tuition was still there.
At least he had the basic decency not to rob his own child. But he’d robbed me. Jason telling me I could have everything—that was a lie. A ploy so I would let my guard down. I trusted him. I fell for it. I didn’t rush to see the divorce lawyer, or to freeze our joint accounts. I gave him the breathing room he needed to take everything we had.
I called Jason’s phone. Got voicemail. I said a lot of things. I said I was going to kill him, but I didn’t mean it literally. The only person I was in danger of killing in that moment was myself. I could imagine life without my husband, but not if I was destitute. What would I do? How would I survive? My fabulous career as an interior designer existed only in my dreams. In real life, I didn’t have a single client. I didn’t have one red cent except for the money he’d just taken. I couldn’t bear it. I threw the phone down. I screamed. I pulled my own hair. I slapped myself across the face. I looked out the window at the dark waves and imagined walking into them. Imagined the briny water tugging at my clothes, up to my waist, then my chest, then over my head. I would die, and that would show him.
But Hannah.
I couldn’t stay in the house alone for one more second, or I would hurt myself. And I wouldn’t do that to my daughter.
I picked up the phone to call Lynn; then I remembered she was in Florida. I thought of the bar in town, where I’d gone a couple of nights earlier. There would be people there. And a stiff drink. I put a jacket on and got my car keys.
If I thought things were bad, I was about to make them much worse.
9
The bar at the Red Anchor hosted a two-for-one happy hour on Wednesday nights. The place was packed by seven, and Aidan was hustling to keep up when chief of police Tommy Callahan walked in. Even in the midst of the crowd, Tommy was hard to miss, with his bulk, his booming voice, and his ruddy face. The Irish sunburn, they called it. The bar at the front of the Red Anchor restaurant was Tommy’s favorite place to hold court, and if he was here, his men weren’t far behind. They’d sit around for hours, the guys laughing at Tommy’s jokes and generally licking his boots, all of them expecting a couple of rounds on the house. But Aidan knew better than to complain. His big brother had gotten him this job and bailed him out of trouble more times than he could count. Acting like a devoted kid brother was small price to pay for the cover he got from Tommy. He never knew when he might need that cover again.
As Tommy approached, Aidan reached across the bar and clasped his brother’s hand.
“Good to see ya, bro. The usual?” Aidan said, grabbing a beer stein.
“No. I got something to say to you. Outside,” Tommy said, jerking his head toward the door.
“Uh, I’m working here.”
“Don’t backtalk, Aidan. I’m not in the mood.”
The flash of anger was like heat in his blood. But he held his tongue. “All right. Give me a minute.”
He called out to Nancy, the waitress. A huge smile lit up her tired face as she caught sight of Tommy. She hurried over, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Chief!” Nancy said.
“Nance, you’re looking fine tonight,” Tommy said, and gave her a hug.
“Aww,
