and she just doesn’t think she has the energy to start again, not to mention traumatizing the children even more.
Keith’s parents live in Highfield. The children could stay in their drama classes, their Little League teams, they could keep their friends, particularly Paige, who, at thirteen, may never recover from being pulled out of her life if they moved to New Jersey.
And yet staying in Highfield would mean having to deal with everyone knowing, being the center of the gossip, walking into rooms full of people in the certain knowledge that she is the reason for the sudden hush.
How is it possible to go from having everything, to suddenly having nothing? These last few days, more and more has emerged. They were, indeed, living the American Dream, but a dream created by smoke and mirrors, created by the people willing to lend them money, far more than they could afford, far more than they had a right to expect, merely because Keith worked in finance so the potential for gold seemed endless.
Almost nothing they have is theirs. The house is owned by the bank, the cars are leased. The stock is worth nothing, and so they are left with possessions.
Charlie has been making lists. The Persian rugs in the family room—the antique, signed Persian rugs that they bought for seventy-five thousand dollars, thinking they were a steal because they bought them with valuations of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars—might be worth, she guesses, fifteen thousand each. If they are lucky.
For who is buying rugs in a market such as this?
The baby grand piano, a William Knabe that cost ten thousand to restore, might be worth—what? Five? Ten? Certainly not the thirty to forty thousand the restorer had said they could expect when they had the work done three years ago.
Her clothes. Her jewels. The huge diamond studs that cost so much, yet would resell for so little.
This morning she went onto eBay, but not, as she has done so many times before, to scout out a bargain, to look for a piece of furniture for the living room, an antique desk, a Swedish table, but to list items to sell.
She is being methodical because it is keeping her calm. Making lists, keeping herself busy, is stopping her from breaking down and screaming.
This morning, the New York Times had an article listing wealthy towns that were suffering. Highfield was close to the top of the list. Stores, upmarket designer stores, were receiving countless checks that were bouncing, from people the stores assumed had more money than God.
It should be some consolation that Charlie isn’t alone, but it isn’t. Just keep moving, she tells herself. One foot in front of the other. But right now, while she’s moving, she can’t forgive Keith, can’t do anything other than sit at the kitchen table once the kids have gone to bed and ask him, coldly, what else she needs to know.
He has cried, confessed his idiocy, says he didn’t know how to tell her things were going wrong, didn’t want to hurt her, was trying to protect her, but Charlie is not swayed by his tears.
And then he jumped on the defensive, again. This wasn’t his fault. The world was collapsing around them, thousands of families were in the same boat, how was he supposed to know this would happen? Nobody could have predicted this. Nobody.
“You weren’t supposed to know this would happen, but you were supposed to have been more sensible. You were supposed to have taken out a mortgage we could afford. Jesus. I didn’t even know about the home equity loan. What the hell was that all about?”
“We needed the money, and you did know. You signed it.”
“Of course I signed it. I signed everything you put in front of me, telling me this was a wise financial move. You know I’m hopeless with money, I don’t understand it. I trusted you to take care of it.”
“You never stopped me.” Keith felt resentment too, and fear at having to shoulder this burden alone. “You could have read it, but you were never interested. Every time I tried to sit down with you and talk about money, you shut down.”
“Oh I see. So it’s my fault? Great. Thanks a lot.”
He is a banker. He was supposed to invest their money wisely. Isn’t diversification the name of the game? Hell, even Charlie knows about diversification, and she’s just about the worst person with money she’s ever known.