get my head around…” He looks lost, his hand fiddling with the creases in the coverlet. “OK, look: I let her talk me into combining bank accounts. Back in the summer, before we left to go traveling. So we had a shared credit card, yeah? And a household bank account linked to our individual ones. And she’s cleaned it all out. Maxed the credit card, took all the cash. And now I need to go back there and deal with the situation.”
That bitch. I thought we’d gotten rid of her when she drove off in the snow last month. I thought I’d warded off disaster; but apparently I was too late. “Oh. Oh, honey. How much?”
“A lot.” He shakes his head. “You were right about her. I still can’t believe it. How could I have been such an idiot?”
“I was an idiot, too.” I take his hand. “I believed in her, too, for a while. I still don’t know what she was trying to get from me, but I figure I got off easy.”
He shrugs and squeezes my hand. “It’ll be fine, I’m sure, I just need to go back and meet with some people at the bank, maybe talk to a lawyer. It was stupid of me not to deal with it weeks ago, when you first told me who she…what she really…” He can’t finish, his voice strangling. “But in the meantime, and I hate asking this of you…”
I suddenly understand what he’s trying to say. “You need money.”
“Just enough to get me to Portland and back.” He ducks his head like a little boy, clearly ashamed to even be asking. “I’ll pay you back.”
I set my coffee down on the side of the table, next to the engagement ring that glints in its tiny silver dish. It charms me, how embarrassed he is. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I say. “You’re my husband. We share things.”
He closes his eyes, as if overcome. “This is not how I wanted to start off our marriage. Unequal footing, right? And to be clear, I know we haven’t talked about this yet, but: There’s money in the family trust in Ireland. It’s not what it used to be, but there’s still some millions in my name. Thing is, I’ve had issues withdrawing it directly while living in the States. I need to meet with the trust solicitor first, sign some documents. Maybe when we go visit—maybe next summer, when Ireland’s not so bloody cold. I’ll settle it all then, get it set up in accounts over here.” He tugs the coverlet tighter, smoothing the creases over my belly. “Probably I should have done that years ago, but money has never really been that important. I’ve never cared that much, you know? As long as I’ve got my books, and pens, and coffee…”
“And me.”
He laughs. “Of course. You, too. But now”—he leans in and kisses me, hard—“now I want to spend it all on you.”
“Look,” I say. “I’ll call this morning and get you added to my credit card. It might take longer to get you attached to my accounts; I’ll have to call my lawyers and get some paperwork drawn up.”
“Ach, Vanessa, there’s no urgency,” he says quickly.
“Of course there is.”
“Let’s deal with it when I get back, yeah?” he says. “Let me get the past off my plate first, before we start talking about the future.”
I pick up the engagement ring and slip it on my finger, spinning it slowly back and forth. Michael and I look at it together in silence, until he finally closes his hand around mine and hides it inside his fist.
“You’re not saying something,” he says. “You can ask me anything, you know.”
“Are you going to try to see her while you’re in town?”
“Her?”
“Ashley. Nina.”
I’ve never seen him so indignant. “Are you kidding? Why would I put myself through that?” He squeezes my hand once, a little too tight, then lets go. “As far as I see it, there never was anyone named Ashley. Our whole relationship was a sham. She’s a liar and a con artist, and I