secrets,” Mom corrected me gently. “Things we hoped would work themselves out.”
“Mom, that is the family definition of a secret.”
A brief smile tugged at Dad’s mouth before he turned solemn.
“Derek has been restoring furniture.”
I blinked at him.
“What?”
“He started after he lost his job.”
“In your workshop?”
He confirmed it.
“He’s good.”
The news stunned me. As a boy Derek hated sanding, lacquer and furniture making; he swore he’d rather dig ditches than build chairs.
“Where?”
“He rents space behind an antique shop across town.”
“With what money?”
Presumably some of the money came from my transfers. Dad shifted uncomfortably.
“He wanted to prove he could make it work before telling you.”
“So he took money intended for you.”
“He borrowed.”
“Did you agree to that?”
Their silence was enough. I spent the night at a motel outside Carmona, obeying Inez’s advice and my parents’
