Page 19 of This Could Be Us
“Soledad, hi,” Dr. Morgan, Harrington’s headmistress, replies. “How are you?”
“Dr. Morgan, as you’ve probably heard,” I say with a small, humorless laugh, “things aren’t great, but we’re trying to get it all sorted out.”
“Yes, it’s very unfortunate. Please let us know if we can help.”
“Thank you. If you’re calling about the girls being absent, I just thought it might be better—”
“No,” she interrupts softly. “I figured as much. I’m calling because we processed tuition today.”
“Oh… okay.”
“I know Inez and Lottie’s tuition is on autopay.”
“Right.”
“The payment didn’t go through.”
It’s quiet enough on the phone to hear a gnat fart, as Grammy used to say.
“I don’t…” I glance at my laptop and the declined total for groceries. “Oh, God.”
“Soledad, it’s fine,” Dr. Morgan says soothingly. “Of course, I don’t usually personally call families when a payment doesn’t clear, but you’re one of the most involved, dedicated parents we have. You’re an asset to our school community. A blessing, really.”
“Thank you,” I mumble through numb lips.
“And of course, I understand these are… extenuating circumstances you find yourself in.”
“Extenuating, yeah. Um, Dr. Morgan, I’m getting a call I need to take. Can we talk later?”
“Of course. I know you have a lot—”
“Right, bye.”
I hang up before she can mete out more sympathy while suppressing her rabid curiosity. It will be all over Skyland by the close of business that I’m broke. I spend the next hour on the phone with my bank, whisper-screaming so I don’t alarm the girls. They’re so sorry. The FBI has frozen our assets, which is why none of my credit cards work. And am I aware our accounts are involved in an active investigation regarding stolen funds?
“Aware?” I snap. “My husband is sitting in a cell as we speak and I don’t even have money to buy groceries, so yeah. I’m aware.”
“We can’t buy groceries?” Lupe asks from the dining room’s arched entrance, eyes wide and startled.
Lupe and I consider each other in horrified silence. She’s horrified we don’t have money for food. I’m horrified that she knows.
“I have to go,” I tell the unhelpful customer service rep.
“There’s a survey about your experience today if you—”
I hang up and toss my cell onto the table.
“Don’t tell your sisters. I don’t want them worried. I didn’t wantyouworried.”
“But what are we gonna do? Can we get on food stamps?”
The statement is so out of left field, a laugh erupts from me.
“Oh, honey.” I wave her over. “Come here.”
I pull her onto my lap. Talk about ridiculous, she’s now a few inches taller than I am, but she’s still my baby. She snuggles into me and tucks her head in the crook of my neck.
“We are gonna be okay,” I say, not sure if I’m convincing her or myself. “Promise. How about some lunch, huh?”