Page 90 of Sins of the Father

“Okay.” She rises. “It was nice meeting you, Harper. I’m going to go sit at my table.”

“Thank you for letting me use your phone,” Harper says.

“The pawnshop opens at eight tomorrow. Vinnie is a straight shooter, so you shouldn’t have any issues getting your phone back.”

“Thanks.”

Dawn smiles and walks away.

More anger boils in me, and I try to calm down, but it’s not working. “Why is your phone in a pawnshop?”

Harper steps toward the door. “None of your business. Let’s go.”

None of my business?

We get into the car, and I stare at her, but she gazes out the window.

I calmly say, “I don’t understand why you aren’t telling me why you’re down here.”

She continues avoiding me. “I didn’t mean to come here. It just happened.”

“How does it just happen?”

She takes a deep breath. Her hands shake and she fidgets with them. “I kept walking to the next shop when I couldn’t get what I needed. It doesn’t matter anyway. My purse had all the cash.”

I put my hand over hers. “If you needed money, I would have given it to you.”

Her voice cracks. “I don’t want to take money from you.”

“Why not? What’s the big deal?”

“I wasn’t raised to take. I was raised to make my own way.”

“What did you pawn?”

“Nothing.” A tear drips down her cheek, and she pulls her hand out from under mine and swipes it away. Her hair moves, and her bare lobes answer my question.

My stomach drops. “What did you need money for?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Harper—”

“My rent. It’s due tomorrow. I didn’t transfer the last of my retirement funds into my bank account. I forgot, and it won’t transfer in time. And the reminder popped up, and if I don’t pay on time, my landlord has a twenty percent late fee. So now you know. I’m a thirty-five-year-old, broke, loser who can’t pay her rent on a run-down, insect-infested apartment. Now you know everything. I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone else, especially not my brother.” She turns back to the window, and her body trembles.

I drag her onto my lap and palm the back of her head. “You aren’t a loser.”

Her face crumbles. “I am.”

“No, you aren’t.”

She sobs, and I hold her to my chest.

“Shh. I’m sorry if I sound angry. You scared me. I was going crazy worrying about where you were, and I know how bad this neighborhood is.”

“I’m sorry,” she cries. “I just kept trying to get what I needed, but no one would give it to me. And then my purse got stolen, so now...” She covers her face even though it’s already on my chest.

“Shh. Everything will be okay.”

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