Chapter 2: The Missing Fourteen Pounds
"Where are the other trays?""
I stood in the kitchen doorway, staring at the empty space inside my refrigerator.
The refrigerator light illuminated two roasting pans.
Two.
I'd prepared six.
Four were missing.
I opened the lower compartment.
Nothing.
I checked the pantry, then the counter, then the oven.
My stomach tightened.
Vanessa appeared behind me.
"Looking for something?""
I turned around.
"Where are the other short ribs?""
She shrugged.
"What short ribs?""
"Don't do that. There were six roasting pans in here.""
"Oh, those.""
She took a sip from her glass of wine.
"Mom wanted to take some.""
"How many?""
Vanessa glanced toward the hallway.
"Ask her.""
I stepped around her.
"Where did she put them?""
"Outside.""
"Outside where?""
Vanessa's smile widened.
"Relax, Opal. They're not going anywhere.""
I walked through the kitchen and pushed open the back door.
Cold evening air hit my face.
The driveway lights were on.
Vanessa's black SUV sat near the garage with its rear hatch raised.
Inside were four roasting pans.
My four missing roasting pans.
I stopped breathing for a second.
The meat was still wrapped in foil, but I recognized the pans immediately. One had a small scratch near the handle. Another had a strip of blue tape I'd placed on it because the lid didn't fit properly.
Charlene stood beside the vehicle, directing a man I recognized as her nephew.
"Careful with that one," she said.
"Don't tilt it.""
The man lifted the final pan into the cargo area.
I walked toward them.
"What are you doing?""
Charlene turned.
"Oh, there you are.""
I pointed at the SUV.
"Why is my food in your car?""
She adjusted her handbag.
"Vanessa is taking it home.""
"All fourteen pounds?""
"Yes.""
I stared at her.
"You're taking fourteen pounds of short ribs out of my house?""
"Don't make a scene.""
I laughed once.
It wasn't a happy sound.
"You already made the scene. You just thought I wouldn't notice.""
Vanessa stepped between us.
"Opal, we talked about this.""
"No, you told me you wanted some. I said no.""
Charlene lifted her chin.
"That wasn't your decision to make.""
I looked at her.
"Excuse me?""
"Spencer is my son. This is his promotion dinner. His family is here. Those ribs are for the family.""
"I bought them.""
"You're married to my son.""
"That doesn't make my credit card yours.""
Vanessa made a frustrated noise.
"Why are you always counting every dollar?""
I looked at her empty hands.
"Because apparently nobody else in this family knows how to pay for anything.""
Charlene's face turned red.
"How dare you?""
"Put the food back.""
She laughed.
"Absolutely not.""
I stepped toward the SUV.
"Then I'm calling the police.""
That finally got her attention.
Vanessa's phone dropped slightly.
Charlene looked toward the house.
"Don't you dare embarrass Spencer on his special night.""
"Then stop stealing from me on his special night.""
A door opened behind us.
Spencer stepped outside.
He was wearing the navy suit I'd bought him for the promotion dinner. His tie was slightly loose, and he'd clearly been enjoying the attention.
"What's going on?""
I pointed at the car.
"Your mother and sister are taking fourteen pounds of my short ribs.""
Spencer looked at the roasting pans.
Then at Charlene.
Then back at me.
"Mom?""
Charlene immediately changed her expression.
"Your wife is making a terrible fuss over a little food.""
"Fourteen pounds isn't a little food.""
Vanessa crossed her arms.
"She's acting like we stole her jewelry.""
I stared at Spencer.
"Tell them to put it back.""
He rubbed his forehead.
"Opal, please. Not tonight.""
I felt something inside me shift.
"Not tonight?""
"Everyone's inside. They're waiting for dinner.""
"They're waiting for the food I made.""
"Exactly. So can we please not turn this into a whole thing?""
I stared at him.
"Your mother took four roasting pans out of our refrigerator.""
"She was just trying to help.""
"Help who?""
He lowered his voice.
"Don't embarrass me.""
I looked at the SUV again.
The fourteen pounds of meat were sitting inside, ready to be driven away.
Then I looked at the man I had married.
He wasn't confused.
He wasn't unaware.
He was choosing.
"Fine," I said.
Spencer's shoulders relaxed.
"Thank you.""
I walked back into the kitchen.
For a few seconds, I stood in front of the remaining two pans.
Eight pounds of meat.
Eight pounds I'd purchased, seasoned, and cooked for fourteen hours.
I removed four pounds from one of the pans, placed them into a disposable container, and walked toward the trash can.
Vanessa followed me.
"What are you doing?""
I opened the lid.
"Making a decision.""
I tipped the container.
Four pounds of perfectly cooked short ribs landed in the garbage.
Vanessa screamed.
"Are you insane?""
I closed the lid.
"No. I'm done.""
Charlene rushed inside.
"What did you just do?""
"I threw away four pounds of food.""
"YOU WHAT?""
She marched toward the trash can and opened it.
The meat sat among discarded vegetable peelings and empty packaging.
Her face twisted.
"You ungrateful little—"
"Don't.""
She stepped closer.
"Do you have any idea how much food you're wasting?""
"Yes. I paid for it.""
"That food was supposed to feed my family!""
I looked directly into her eyes.
"Your family is welcome to buy its own dinner.""
Then she slapped me.
The sound cracked through the kitchen.
My head turned sharply.
For a moment, the room seemed to disappear.
Then I heard Spencer.
Not defending me.
Not asking if I was hurt.
He said, "Mom, what the hell?""
Charlene pointed at me.
"She threw away perfectly good food!""
I slowly turned toward my husband.
He stood in the doorway, his hands hanging at his sides.
"Spencer," I whispered.
He looked at me.
"Say something.""
His eyes moved to his mother.
"Mom, you shouldn't have done that.""
That was it.
That was the full extent of his outrage.
Charlene threw her hands up.
"Oh, so now I'm the villain? After everything I've done for this family?""
I touched my cheek.
"Everything you've done?""
She stepped toward me again.
"I raised your husband!""
"And I pay for his house.""
Silence.
Vanessa gasped.
Spencer's expression hardened.
"Opal, stop.""
I laughed softly.
"Why? Is that embarrassing, too?""
Charlene pointed a trembling finger at me.
"You need to remember your place.""
I looked at the woman who had just assaulted me inside my own home.
Then I looked at my husband.
"That," I said quietly, "is exactly what I've been wondering for three years.""
I walked away.
I didn't cry.
I didn't scream.
I went upstairs, locked the bedroom door, and opened the bottom drawer of my dresser.
Inside was a small black folder.
I'd kept it there for months.
It contained copies of mortgage statements, bank records, utility payments, and several documents Spencer had signed without reading carefully.
I had started collecting them after discovering something strange on our joint credit card.
A $2,800 payment to a company I didn't recognize.
Then another.
Then another.
At the time, Spencer had told me they were work-related expenses.
But the receipts had never arrived.
I sat on the edge of the bed and opened my laptop.
My cheek was still burning.
Downstairs, people were laughing again.
Someone turned up the music.
My husband was apparently explaining that I'd become emotional.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
*You need to check the guest list before you let Spencer talk you into apologizing.*
I stared at it.
A second message followed.
*And whatever you do, don't sign anything he gives you tomorrow.*
I looked at the sender.
No name.
No photograph.
Just a phone number.
I typed one question.
*Who is this?*
May you like
The reply arrived almost immediately.
*Someone who knows what your husband has been doing with your money.*
