Chapter 17 - NOT A WITNESS

Britney called me that night.

I did not answer.

She called again.

Then she sent:

I told him everything I could remember.

I stared at the message.

Everything she could remember.

That phrase bothered me.

I called back.

"Did you delete records?"

"Some."

"What does some mean?"

"Emails. Photos. A folder on my laptop."

"After Mom told you to?"

"Yeah."

"After you knew the dealership was investigating?"

Silence.

"Britney."

"Yeah."

I got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I was scared."

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"You don't get to make every bad decision a fear response. Sometimes you did something bad because you wanted the problem gone."

She went quiet.

Then she said, "Okay."

I was not prepared for that.

"Okay what?"

"You're right. I wanted it gone. I thought if I deleted enough stuff maybe nobody could prove anything and then you'd cool off and... I don't know."

"And what?"

"Fix it."

The word was small.

I leaned against the counter.

"There it is."

"I know."

"Do you?"

She made an irritated sound. "Can you stop asking me that?"

For some reason, I smiled.

"No."

A little silence passed.

Then she said, "Bell told me I might need my own lawyer."

"You should get one."

"I can't afford one."

I did not respond.

She laughed once.

"Yeah. I heard it too."

The old reflex rose in me anyway.

I could pay a retainer.

I could find someone.

I could make a few calls.

I pressed my palm flat against the counter until the feeling passed.

"I can't be the person who solves that for you."

"I know."

"I'm serious."

"I said I know."

Her voice sharpened.

Then softened again.

"Sorry."

We had never talked like this.

Not because it was healthy.

Because we had never stayed in an uncomfortable conversation long enough to get past the first fight.

She said, "Can I tell you something without you using it against Mom?"

"No."

"Wow."

"I'm not promising secrecy about fraud."

"Fine. Fair. Whatever."

I waited.

"Mom didn't start all of it for me."

"What does that mean?"

"The first loan. The equipment loan? Dad needed it."

"For the business?"

"For his gambling debt."

I said nothing.

The refrigerator clicked on behind me.

"Dad doesn't gamble."

Britney let out a tired breath.

"He did. Sports apps. For like two years. Mom found out. That's when she started moving money around."

I thought of Dad at breakfast.

Fork over eggs.

Everybody needs to calm down.

The quiet parent.

The reasonable one.

"How much?"

"I don't know. Forty? Maybe more."

I pulled out a chair and sat down.

The easy version of Dad disappeared too.

Britney whispered, "Erin?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not trying to blame him."

"You don't have to."

"What does that mean?"

I looked at the dark window over my sink.

"It means facts don't need your help."

The next morning, Dad texted me:

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I need to tell you the part Britney doesn't know.