Chapter 12 - THE HOUSE

My parents' house had been the one stable object in my childhood.

Same oak table.

Same squeaky step near the upstairs bathroom.

Same maple tree that dropped helicopters into the driveway every spring.

When Dad said "the house," my first stupid thought was that something had broken.

A pipe.

The roof.

The furnace.

"What about it?"

He took too long.

"We took a second mortgage."

"When?"

"2021."

"For what?"

"The business. And some other bills."

I sat down on the stair.

"How much?"

"Eighty-two thousand originally."

"Originally?"

"There's fifty-seven left."

I stared at my shoes.

"Are you behind?"

Dad did not answer.

"How far?"

"Three months."

The anger in me changed temperature.

It became cold.

"Does Mom know?"

"Yes."

"Does Britney?"

"Yes."

"And that's why she needed the twenty-five-thousand-dollar business line."

"Partly."

"To save the house."

"To catch up."

I almost admired the machinery of it.

One lie needed another loan.

One loan needed another signature.

One emergency justified the next theft.

Always temporary.

Always almost fixed.

"How long until foreclosure?"

"We're not there yet."

"That's not an answer."

"The bank sent a notice."

I stood up again.

"Send it to me."

"Erin -"

"Send me the notice."

Five minutes later, a photo arrived.

The amount due to cure the default was $9,842.17.

I had that money.

Not comfortably.

But I had it.

That fact sat in my chest like a stone.

I went back into Priya's office.

She looked at my face and said, "What now?"

I handed her the phone.

She read the notice.

Then she looked at me.

"Do not pay this today."

"I didn't say I would."

"You were thinking it loud enough."

I sat down.

"It's my parents' house."

"Yes."

"They could lose it."

"Yes."

"And I can stop that."

Priya folded her hands.

"For how long?"

I hated that question.

I looked at the USB drive on the desk.

At the fake email.

At my mother's note: strong credit use only if needed.

Then my phone buzzed.

Mom.

I ignored it.

She called again.

Then a third time.

Finally I answered.

She did not say hello.

"Your father told you about the house."

"Yes."

"We need less than ten thousand to stop this."

I said nothing.

Her voice softened.

"Erin, please."

There it was.

The old button.

The one they had pressed for years.

I looked at Priya.

She shook her head once.

Mom whispered, "If we lose this house, your father will not survive it."

And because I was tired, furious, and still very much their daughter, I made my third mistake.

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I said, "Give me until tomorrow."