David sank down onto the couch.
“Thirty thousand?” he said. “Jessica, what haven’t you told me?”
“The credit cards. My student loans. And the personal loan my mom cosigned for my business last year.”
“What business?”
“The online boutique. I maxed out our cards buying inventory. Dresses. Jewelry. None of it sold. It’s all in boxes in my mom’s garage in Hillsboro.”
I was learning more about their finances in that five-minute fight than I had in six months of living with them.
“So let me understand this,” I said. “You’re thirty thousand dollars in debt. You sold your car. You have no income. And your solution was to go through my private papers to figure out how to get more money out of me.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds bad,” Jessica mumbled.
“It doesn’t just sound bad, Jessica. It is bad.”
David looked up at me. His face was gray.
“Mom, please. Don’t make us leave. We really have nowhere to go.”
“You should have thought about that before your wife went through my bedroom.”
“I’ll make it right,” David said. “I’ll get a job. Any job. I’ll pay rent. I’ll make Jessica apologize. A real apology.”
“David, no…” Jessica started.
He cut her off.
“Jessica, either you apologize to my mother right now, or we’re both homeless. Your choice.”
She stared at him like she’d never seen him before.
“You’re choosing her over me.”
“I’m choosing survival over pride,” he said. “You might want to try it.”
Jessica looked from him to me. Her face cycled through anger, disbelief and finally something that looked like defeat.
She turned to me.
“Margaret, I’m sorry I went through your personal papers. It was wrong. It won’t happen again.”
“And?” David said.
“And I’m sorry I’ve been disrespectful to you in your own home.”
I studied her face. The apology was forced. But it was an apology.
“Thank you, Jessica. I accept it.”
David let out a long breath. “So we can stay?”
I folded the contract and put it in my cardigan pocket.
“You can stay,” I said. “On two new conditions.”
“What conditions?” Jessica asked warily.
“David, you’ll start a real job search today. Not a business plan. Not a scheme to get money from me. An actual job. Retail. Restaurants. Warehouses. Whatever you can find.”
“Done,” he said.
“And Jessica, since you’re so interested in my finances, you’re going to help me organize all my paperwork. Every bit of it. With me sitting right beside you.”
She winced.
“Is that supposed to be punishment?”
“No,” I said. “It’s supposed to be an education. Because once you see what my finances really look like, you’ll understand why I’m so careful with my money.”
The next morning, Jessica sat across from me at the desk in my little home office with a stack of filing boxes between us.
“We’ll start with the tax returns,” I said. “The last five years.”
She sat down reluctantly and started sorting.
Within an hour, her whole attitude had changed.
“Margaret,” she said slowly. “According to these returns, your income is only about forty thousand a year. Social Security and your church pension.”
“That’s right.”
“But the bank statements showed a lot more in savings.”
“That’s the money from selling Richard’s accounting practice after he died.”
David looked up from his laptop at the kitchen table, where he was finally filling out an application on the Fred Meyer website.
“Dad’s practice? I thought it was just a little tax office.”
“It was. But small doesn’t mean worthless. Your father spent thirty years building relationships with every small business in this county. When he died, I sold his client list and his office lease to a bigger firm. Two hundred thousand, after taxes.”
David whistled.
“Keep reading those statements, Jessica,” I said. “You’ll notice something about the balances over time.”
She flipped through the monthly statements. Her frown deepened.
“The balance keeps going down.”
“Exactly. When you’re living on a fixed income and pulling from savings, the money doesn’t last forever. Especially when two extra adults are living in your house eating your groceries.”
“How long will it last?” David asked quietly.
I pulled out a worksheet Thomas had helped me put together.
“At my current spending? Roughly twelve years. Less if I need long-term care. Assisted living in this area costs about six thousand dollars a month. Memory care costs more.”
David closed his laptop.
“Mom, I never thought about any of that. I just figured since you owned the house…”
“You figured I was rich because I have a house. But a house isn’t money in your pocket. If I sell it, I have to live somewhere.”
Jessica was still studying the papers. She was good with numbers. I’d give her that.
“What about this account?” she asked. “Richardson Financial. It shows quarterly dividends of about three thousand dollars. That means there’s a lot of principal behind it.”
I tensed a little. She’d found the one account I’d hoped she wouldn’t notice.
David was paying attention now.
“Mom? How much is in that account?”
I could have lied. But I didn’t.
“About four hundred thousand,” I said.
The silence was deafening.
“Four hundred thousand?” David’s voice cracked. “Mom, that changes everything.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I said. “That’s the money your father and I saved for thirty-seven years. That account is what pays for my care when I can’t live on my own anymore. It’s untouchable.”
“So you’re not poor,” David said finally.
“I’m not poor. And I’m not rich. I’m secure. As long as I’m careful and nothing big goes wrong.”
“Like supporting two unemployed adults,” Jessica said quietly.
“Exactly like that,” I said.
