“Yes.”
She pulls her lips in. “Doesn’t look like I can just reject it.”
“So I’m stuck?”
“You can call the company and ask them to reverse it for you. That would be the easiest.” She frowns again. “But I see that they’ve been depositing money into your account fairly regularly. Is there a problem?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s fine. The deposits are supposed to stop from this month. It’s probably an accounting error.” I’m not going into detail about the arrangement I have with Mr. Grayson.
“Well. You could call, but most likely they’ll catch the error on their own and reverse the tra
nsaction.”
“Great. Thanks.” I give her a pat smile and leave.
I return to the car and inhale deeply. I don’t want to talk to Mr. Grayson, but I need to put a stop to this. I already owe the man over ten thousand dollars, for the thousand he’s been giving me every month since he found me.
My stomach flutters like I’m about to take a big test I didn’t study for. I can do this. Just keep the call short and to the point.
“Hello, Annabelle,” comes Mr. Grayson’s plebian voice. No matter what the words are coming out of his mouth, it’s like he’s reading a list of groceries. It’s the kind of voice that you expect any average college-educated white American male to have: unremarkable in every way. But his behavior is far from unremarkable.
“Hi, Mr. Grayson.” I wet my suddenly dry lips. “I’m calling about the deposit.”
“Is it sufficient?” he asks calmly, not a hint of rebuke or surprise.
I swallow. The only time I ever call him about money is when I need more. “Yes. Actually, I wanted to let you know there’s no reason for you to bother anymore. My husband is taking care of my needs.”
“I see. Congratulations.”
“And I’d like to know where I can start sending you payments.”
“For what?”
“The money you’ve been lending me. I want to pay you back.”
“There’s no reason to do that.”
“But I want to.”
A small pause hangs in the air for a moment. “Is it because you’re worried your husband may find out?”
“What?”
“He seems like a proud fellow. He might not take kindly to his wife having her needs met by some other man.”
There’s an odd purr in the way he says “some other man” that makes my internal alarm go off. “It’s not like that. I don’t want to be beholden to anybody.”
“That wasn’t what you said when I first met you.”
I clench my hand in my lap. “I know you don’t work for an insurance company.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah, it is so. I always knew, but I didn’t want to admit it. I was too desperate. You know that.”
“Then why do you think I’ve been providing for you and your sister?” His tone is entirely too mild, like he’s discussing music he used to like in the nineties.
Apprehension tightens around my neck, making it hard for me to drag in air. “I don’t know.”