Chapter 7 - The Price of Looking Successful
Keisha arrived at Marcus’s house Tuesday evening without calling first.
The silver sedan still sat in the driveway.
The bow was gone.
Darius had insisted it come off.
“It looks stupid now,” he said.
Keisha understood what he meant.
Marcus opened the door wearing slacks and a dress shirt, as though he had only just returned from the office.
“You could’ve called.”
“I did.”
“You didn’t say you were coming.”
“I didn’t want you preparing.”
Marcus’s eyebrows rose.
“Preparing what?”
“An explanation.”
He stepped aside.
Keisha entered.
The house looked perfect.
That had once impressed her.
Now she noticed how staged it felt.
Decorative books nobody read.
Wine glasses arranged by height.
A framed photo of Marcus and Jordan from six years earlier on the console table.
Jordan was maybe twelve, grinning beside his father at a basketball game.
Keisha looked at it longer than usual.
“What?”
Marcus asked.
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you here?”
She turned.
“Did you use Jordan’s money for Darius’s car?”
Marcus’s face changed only slightly.
It was enough.
Keisha closed her eyes.
“Oh, my God.”
“It isn’t what you think.”
“Do you know how tired I am of hearing that sentence?”
“I borrowed money from an account I control.”
“For Jordan.”
“I put it back.”
“Today?”
Marcus paused.
Keisha laughed in disbelief.
“You put it back after they found out.”
“Yes, because I realized it looked bad.”
“Looked bad?”
“It was temporary.”
“You stole from your son.”
“Don’t use that word.”
“What word would you prefer?”
“It was not theft.”
“Did Jordan give you permission?”
“He didn’t know the account existed.”
“That is not better.”
Marcus rubbed his forehead.
“You’re acting like I emptied his college fund.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Did you take other money?”
Silence.
Keisha stared.
“How much?”
“I’ve handled family expenses out of that account before.”
“Marcus.”
“Not recently.”
“How much?”
“A few thousand.”
Her voice dropped.
“How much money did his grandfather leave?”
Marcus looked away.
Keisha felt sick.
“You’re not telling me because the number makes you look worse.”
“I hate the way everybody keeps saying ‘look.’”
“Because you care more about appearances than anything else.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
She walked toward the window and pointed at the sedan.
“That car wasn’t for Darius.”
“Yes, it was.”
“No. It was a performance for me.”
Marcus stared.
“You wanted me to see what kind of man you were.”
“I wanted your son to feel supported.”
“Then why did you lie about Jordan?”
No answer.
“Because generosity isn’t impressive when people can see who paid for it.”
Marcus looked wounded.
Keisha almost felt guilty.
Then she remembered Jordan’s trembling hand holding the envelope.
“Darius is not keeping the car.”
Marcus stiffened.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
Keisha turned slowly.
“Excuse me?”
“I bought it.”
“For my minor child.”
“It’s titled to me.”
“Exactly.”
Marcus’s face changed.
He heard it.
Keisha nodded.
“Everything stays yours.”
“That’s not fair.”
“The car stays yours. The story stays yours. The decision stays yours. The explanation stays yours.”
“Keisha—”
“You don’t give. You arrange.”
He looked genuinely hurt.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you help people in ways that keep you in control.”
“That is nonsense.”
“You paid Darius’s summer basketball fee directly instead of giving me the money.”
“Because it was easier.”
“You booked the hotel for my sister’s wedding instead of letting me choose one.”
“I had points.”
“You bought me a laptop after I said I was saving for one.”
“That’s called being thoughtful.”
“You returned the one I bought myself because you said yours was better.”
Marcus said nothing.
Keisha’s breathing slowed.
She had not seen the pattern because each moment, alone, looked generous.
“You make people owe you.”
“That’s insulting.”
“No. It’s terrifying.”
Marcus’s phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Jordan.
Marcus looked at the screen but did not answer.
Keisha said, “Pick up.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I need to finish this conversation.”
“Maybe he needs his father.”
“He has spent two days treating me like a criminal.”
“You behaved like one.”
Marcus’s eyes flashed.
“Watch yourself.”
Keisha went still.
Not afraid.
Finished.
“Do not talk to me like that.”
Marcus lowered his voice.
“I’m sorry.”
She grabbed her purse.
“Send me whatever the dealer needs to unwind the purchase.”
“I’m not returning the car.”
“I’m not putting Darius in it.”
“That’s your choice.”
“Yes.”
Keisha walked to the door.
Marcus followed.
“You’re throwing away our relationship over a financial misunderstanding?”
She stopped.
“No.”
She faced him.
“I’m questioning our relationship because you lied to me about your son so I would admire you.”
Marcus looked as if she had slapped him.
Keisha opened the door.
Outside, the sedan caught the last light of evening.
For the first time, she noticed a temporary registration sticker in the window.
She stepped closer.
Marcus remained behind her.
Keisha read the paperwork.
Then frowned.
The address listed beneath Marcus’s name was not his house.
It was the duplex Jordan had found.
“Why is this address here?”
Marcus froze.
Keisha looked back.
“What?”
“The temporary registration.”
She pointed.
“This isn’t your address.”
“Dealer mistake.”
“Whose address is it?”
“My business property.”
Keisha stared.
“You have a business property?”
Marcus said nothing.
She took out her phone and photographed the temporary tag.
Marcus stepped forward.
“Don’t.”
That one word told her everything.
Keisha backed away.
“Why not?”
“There is no reason to drag other things into this.”
“What other things?”
Marcus stopped.
Keisha searched the address.
LPM Holdings.
County property records.
Default notice.
Her eyes lifted.
“You’re behind on this mortgage.”
Marcus looked toward the street.
Keisha whispered, “How much money are you actually hiding?”
He did not answer.
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And suddenly she understood that the car was not the secret.
It was the decoration sitting on top of one.
