Chapter 8
The previous autumn,
I had purchased my first used tractor.
It had needed a new hydraulic line.
I fixed it myself
with parts that cost less than two hundred dollars.
My parents had apparently paid eight thousand
for a repair that never happened.
I touched the entry.
“Did you call me about this?”
Mom shook her head.
“Ranata said you would be humiliated.”
“And you believed her.”
Mom looked down.
“Yes.”
I took a slow breath.
“What happened to the next payment?”
Ranata stared at me.
“Twenty-two thousand dollars,” I continued.
“Six months later.
Another equipment emergency.”
She rubbed her forehead.
“I don't remember.”
“Then we'll get the records.”
Her eyes snapped up.
“What records?”
“Bank records.
Business records.
Invoices.
Whatever shows where the money went.”
“You can't just demand my private information.”
I looked at the forged signature.
“Then we'll let an attorney explain
how these things get investigated.”
She went completely still.
“An attorney?”
“Yes.”
“You'd sue your own sister?”
“I'm not making that decision tonight.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I'm saying the lying stops tonight.”
Dad nodded.
For the first time that evening,
he looked older than his years.
“She's right.”
Ranata turned toward him.
“Dad, please.”
He raised his hand.
“Don't ask me for anything else.”
Her face crumpled.
But he continued.
“Not tonight.
Not until we know the truth.”
Mom's tears fell onto the table.
I wanted to comfort her.
I also wanted to ask
why she had never called me
about a single one of those transfers.
Both feelings were real.
Neither canceled the other.
I looked at Dad.
“Is there more debt?”
He didn't answer immediately.
Then he reached beneath the stack.
He removed two documents.
One was a home-equity statement.
The other was a retirement account summary.
I read them slowly.
A balance of just over three hundred thousand
remained against their home.
Most of their liquid savings were gone.
My parents had once owned
a profitable hardware and supply business.
They had worked for nearly forty years.
Sold the business.
Sold a small rental property.
Invested carefully.
They weren't extravagant people.
Dad repaired appliances rather than replacing them.
Mom washed plastic containers
until the lids no longer fit.
They had planned a comfortable retirement.
Not an extravagant one.
Just security.
Now I understood why Dad
had stopped talking about traveling.
Why Mom had canceled
the kitchen renovation she always wanted.