Page 42 of The Fake Out

I found a fresh sheet and divided it in half, labeling one side PRO and one side CON.

CONS

—The lying

—The pretending

—The fake-ness

PROS

—$100,000

—Money to pay off Mama’s medical bills

—It bears repeating: $100,000

With a groan, I tossed the notepad aside, disturbing a sleeping Kevin. This earned me a scathing glare. His tail whipped around in righteous kitty anger.

“Well, excuse me,” I grumbled.

“Don’t do it again,” his eyes said.

“This is ridiculous. I can’t even believe I’m considering this nonsense.” I flipped off the covers and quietly stole away to the kitchen. Maybe a snack would help.

Decisions usually came easy to me and once I made one, I stuck to it. Even when quitting might have been better for my mental health and well-being. Case in point, the summer I nannied for the Colson Triplets. They were monsters. I still had an occasional nightmare about that last trip we took to the zoo. It should be noted that no one, not even the zoo staff, could figure out how Connor got into that prairie dog exhibit. But I stuck it out until the bitter end.

I was almost to the kitchen when I heard a soft clunk coming from the general area. When I turned the corner, I found my mother sitting at the kitchen table eating ice cream straight out of the carton.

“Mama?”

She startled and her spoon clattered to the table. “Goodness, you scared me to death.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“What gives you that idea?” she asked, picking up the spoon and digging back into the carton.

“Could be that it’s two in the morning. Could be that you’re speed-eating ice cream.” I dug around in the silverware drawer for a spoon and sat next to her. “Hmmm. Chocolate Pecan. I didn’t know we had any.”

She pushed the container between us. “That’s because I hide it, so you and your sister don’t find it.”

I snickered and took a bite. Under the dim light of the overhead above the stove, I studied my mother’s face. There was a pinched look around her eyes and the corners of her mouth.

“Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

With a sigh, she shook her head. “I’m fine. You?”

“Just the usual.”

Mama set her spoon down and straightened, fussing with the collar of her floral housedress. “I’m glad you’re up.”

“Oh?”

She reached into her pocket, pulled out an envelope, and slid it across the table. “I got this today. It’s a bill from my neurologist.”

Oh, no. Oh. No. Bills were never supposed to be delivered to the house. I grabbed at it and saw it had been opened. With a heavy feeling in my stomach, I pulled the bill from inside.

“I’ll save you the trouble,” Mama said, an edge to her voice as she told me the figure: $7,393.47.