“That’s a tough question to answer,” he says. “The important thing is that we’ll be okay.”
“How?” I ask. “What’s going to happen?”
“That’s also a tough question to answer,” he says. “One thing I can promise is that whatever happens, you still get to live at home.”
I feel some relief at that. When I started college, my stepdad built me a small apartment in the garage so I could stay at home and avoid spending money on a dorm room. Not having to worry about rent has been a huge help to me and I’m glad to know that I still won’t have to worry about rent.
I’m still worried about my stepfather, though, so I say, “Thank you, but what about you? How are we going to fix this? We can’t just let her get away with stealing from you like this.”
He pauses a moment, then says, “When you’re back from your break, call me back from your work phone. Talk to me just like I’m a customer. Keep it professional. Don’t let them know that you know me and don’t act like your suspicious about anything. I’m a client and you’re just following up on an exception.”
“Okay,” I say. “What happens after that?”
“You let me worry about that,” he replies. “Just call me when you get back to work and I’ll take care of the rest. Don’t worry, Sammy. Everything will be okay.”
“Okay.”
I spend the rest of my break on edge. My mind is reeling, and my emotions are on a roller-coaster. I can’t at all understand how my mother could hurt a man who’s been nothing but a saint to her ever since they met. He’s been my stepfather for eight years, and I have him to thank for the fact that I’m in school studying to be a finance manager instead of flipping around on a pole in some highway dive club. For that matter, my mom has him to thank for the fact she lives in a nice house and drives a luxury sedan instead of living in a trailer and blowing guys for money in the back seats of their luxury sedans.
I should feel guilty for thinking about my mother like that but I’m just so mad! How can she do this to him?
I manage to control my anger and put on a professional demeanor and a smile when I return. I get my desk set up and manage to remain calm as I dial my stepdad’s number.
“Jackson Holdings, this is Dominic speaking,” he replies in as carefully modulated a voice as my own.
“Hi, Mr. Jackson, this is Samantha Harris from First City Bank. I’m calling in reference to your account ending in two-eight-seven-four.”