“Terrible.”
“Good.”
I stared at him.
He smiled faintly.
“It means you’re not pretending this is easy.”
That evening, Thomas called six times.
Paula called four.
Neither left an apology.
Their messages demanded my location.
“Mom, call us back.”
“This is getting ridiculous.”
“We need to know where you are.”
Then something changed.
On the second morning, Paula left a different message.
“Mom, please call me.
Who exactly are you staying with?”
Richard was beside me when I played it.
“She sounds frightened,” I said.
“Not of losing you,” he replied.
“Not yet.”
I turned toward him.
“What does that mean?”
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he opened the leather folder again.
“My name is known in Miami business circles.
Your children may have figured out who I am.”
I felt embarrassed immediately.
“I don’t want them thinking I’m using you.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Then their imagination is their problem.”
The next call came from Thomas.
This time I answered.
“Mom, are you with Richard Grant?”
I glanced at Richard.
“Why?”
Thomas exhaled sharply.
“Just answer me.”
“Yes.”
The silence on the line was so complete that I could hear the air-conditioning in Richard’s room.
“How do you even know him?”
“He saw me at the airport.”
“You told him what happened?”
There it was.
Not How did he help you?
Not Thank God somebody stopped.
You told him what happened?
“Yes.”
“Mom, you can’t go around telling strangers private family business.”
“You made it public when you left me crying beside an airline counter.”
Thomas lowered his voice.
“You don’t understand.
People like him have influence.”
I almost said, And people like me don’t?
Instead I asked one question.
“If Richard were poor, would what you did be less wrong?”
