The ATM ejected the card with an ugly, piercing beep. Instead of the usual prompt to take the cash, a red message glared from the screen: transaction declined.
Linda blinked. She adjusted her fur hat, which all at once felt unbearably heavy and hot. It had to be a mistake. Of course it was. It was the sixteenth, the day her daughter-in-law always sent her money. Megan called it “help,” though Linda had long ago decided it was simply what she was owed for raising a son like Eric.
She pushed the card back into the slot. Her leather-gloved fingers slipped over the buttons.
Insufficient funds.
Someone behind her let out an irritated breath.
“Ma’am, are you going to be much longer? There’s a line, you know.”
Linda spun around and fixed the young man in the hoodie with a sharp stare.
“Learn some patience. The machine is acting up.”
She moved away toward the store window and pulled out her phone. The call rang and rang, but no one answered. Not Megan. Not Eric.
“Oh, just wait,” she hissed, feeling resentment begin to boil inside her. “I’ll show you what happens when you make yourselves unavailable. I have a manicure appointment today, and you’re ruining everything?”
It took her forty minutes to reach her son’s apartment. The whole taxi ride, paid for with the last cash in her wallet, she worked herself into a rage. She imagined bursting in and saying everything she had stored up. Megan would start making excuses, and Eric would lower his eyes like a guilty schoolboy. They had probably forgotten. Young people—nothing but wind between their ears. Well, she would remind them.
Megan opened the door.
Linda drew in air, ready to begin at full volume, then stopped short. Her daughter-in-law looked terrible. Usually neat and put together, Megan stood there in one of her husband’s old T-shirts, her hair twisted into a messy knot, her face so drawn it was almost frightening.
“You?” Her voice rasped like a rusty hinge. “Did it occur to you to call?”
“I did call!” Linda marched over the threshold, nudging Megan aside with her shoulder. The smell hit her at once—not fresh coffee, as usual, but medicine and stale air. “You’re ignoring me. Both of you. What is going on? Why is the card empty? I was humiliated in the store!”
“Go into the kitchen,” Megan said, shutting the door without looking at her. “Eric will be out in a minute.”
The kitchen was a mess. A pile of unwashed cups covered the table, along with papers and empty medication boxes. Linda brushed crumbs off a chair with open disgust and sat down without unbuttoning her coat.
“I’m waiting. I do have plans, by the way.”
Megan lowered herself onto the stool across from her. She looked completely drained.
“There won’t be any more transfers, Linda.”
“What?” Linda gave a brittle little laugh. “Is this some kind of joke? Because it isn’t funny.”
“I quit my job. A week ago.”
“Quit?” Linda stared at her. “From a position like that? Have you lost your mind? You have a mortgage. Your child is starting school. Is Eric supposed to carry everything alone?”
“Eric knows,” Megan said quietly. “We decided together. The doctor gave me a choice.”