Page 83 of Sins of the Father

“Yes, of course.”

I begin to text Jamison’s driver but stop.If he drives me, then he’ll know I went to a pawnshop.

“I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“There’s no rush. My day is clear.”

“Thanks.” I get up, hand her Anna’s phone, and leave.

When I step outside the building, the Chicago wind whips my face. I pull up pawnshops on my phone and pick the closest one. I walk a few miles and go in.

Since I need cash today, I can’t wait for something to sell.

Now I’m going to get even less.

You should have sold these months ago.

The owner barters back and forth with me but won’t give me enough to pay my rent. So I leave and go to the next one.

I’m in the middle of negotiating when my phone rings.

Steven’s name pops up. I send it to voice mail. He calls again, and I hit thedon’t acceptbutton and text, “Sorry, tied up right now. Everything’s good and will talk to you tonight.”

“All right. Kiss Hope for me. I hope you two are having fun.”

“We are.”

Why did I lie?

You can’t tell him you’re flat broke and at a pawnshop.

I get back into bickering but once again, I can’t get enough for my rent.

I look at the map on my phone and walk to the next one.

For several hours, I try to get what I need. Each failed attempt makes me panic more. A text comes in from Steven. “My mom wants to see Hope. What if we let her babysit, and I take you out for dinner?”

I reply, “Sounds good. See you tonight. XOXO.”

I walk farther, not noticing how the buildings turn shabby, or the bars on the windows, or how the pavement begins to have cracks and bumps in it. Every broker I talk to tries to give me less. My phone rings and vibrates several times while I’m negotiating, but I don’t answer or look at the messages. It turns dark, and my rings are still in my possession. My phone rings, but I pull it out and hit the button so it turns off. I set it on the counter.

I need to concentrate on my negotiation.

You’re an attorney. Step it up.

“This is a flawless diamond and real platinum.”

The man points to my ears. “Are those real too?”

My stomach pitches. “These aren’t for sale.”

My grandmother gave me these on her deathbed. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but she always whispered in my ear, “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re my favorite, Harper.”

“I’ll give you what you want for the rings and earrings, assuming they are real.”

My heart races.

“Time is running out, lady. I should be closed. It’s after eight. You want the money or not?”

---