Kat’s breathing quickened as she climbed the hill, unable to concentrate on anything more than her slow jog up the ten percent grade. Uncle Harry’s house was halfway up, close but still an impossible thirty meters away.
Her legs burned, unaccustomed to running up the long incline. Already Friday and it was her first run this week. With Harry’s increased needs and her growing workload, it was difficult to get a decent run in, or to find any time for herself. This might be her longest run for a while, so she wanted to make it hurt, to make it count.
The steep grade gave the illusion of a road to nowhere, rising almost vertically until it touched the horizon, ending abruptly. At least that was the view from the bottom. When she was growing up, after her dad left and she went to live with Harry and Elsie, she’d wanted to just keep on going. Up to the top of the hill, where she would pretend there was nothing above the asphalt but sky. There she’d drop off the face of the earth—away from her past, present, and most especially, away from Hillary.
She’d started out early to fit in a two-hour run before Harry woke. The steady downpour had trickled to a shower. Not that it mattered anymore. Her clothes were soaked, and her running shoes squished from landing in too many puddles.
Kat finally crested the hill and slowed to a walk at the top. Harry’s Cape Cod house came into view a half-block away. It was a far cry from the immaculate condition Harry had always kept it in. Moss had overtaken the lawn, and paint peeled from the window frames.
After the car accident, she’d taken to checking in on Harry every morning, getting him breakfast and bringing him to the office, or to her house on weekends. She knocked on the door and waited a few minutes. No answer. The television was blaring. Judge Judy was berating someone about a convertible that didn’t belong to them.
She bent down and flipped up the letter slot, her legs already stiffening.
“Uncle Harry? It’s me, Kat.”
Footsteps shuffled behind the door. Metal clicked as Harry unlocked a half-dozen bolts.
“Nice to see you!” Harry smiled at her.
As if they hadn’t seen each other in ages. As if she didn’t do this check-in every morning.
“What brings you here?” Harry wore a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt and wool pants cinched with a belt. He’d lost so much weight since Elsie died last year.
“Just checking in. Feeling better than yesterday?”
“Why? What happened yesterday?”
“You were feeling sick.” Kat dropped her gaze to Harry’s forearm, purple with bruises. “Did you fall?”
“Now why would you ask that?” Harry closed the door and frowned.
“Your arm.” She held it and pointed to the bruises.
Harry stared at his arm in wonder. “Yup, I guess I did. But I guess everything’s fine now.”
Harry motioned Kat inside. “It’s about time you came by, Kat. I haven’t seen you in weeks!”
She followed Harry inside the hall, where a wall of heat assaulted her. A stack of mail sat on the side table. She picked up the envelopes and sifted through them, looking for bills or anything else that needed prompt attention. Two Visa bills, a MasterCard bill, a phone bill, and his latest bank statement.
She opened the first Visa statement and almost gasped when she saw the balance.
Twenty-two thousand dollars and change. The other two credit card statements had similar transactions. All together they totaled thirty grand. That amounted to a lot of pension checks.
Her heart thumped in her chest as she pocketed the statements. She walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her so she could examine them without arousing Harry’s suspicion.
Six thousand at Tiffany’s. What on earth could Harry possibly buy at Tiffany’s? Another four thousand at various designer clothing stores. Troubling, since Harry only shopped at thrift stores. Interest and a balance carried forward made up the rest of the amount owing. Was it a mistake? Probably not, in light of the suspicious loan. And now she discovered three different credit card balances.
She opened the latest bank statement and checked the ending balance. Harry’s overdraft was much higher than she remembered seeing in Anita Boehmer’s office. But, then, the statement Harry had brought to the bank had been a month old.
She held her breath and flipped to the last page. A mortgage, taken out almost three weeks ago, was listed along with the home reno loan. Anita Boehmer never mentioned it. What the hell was going on?
Kat sighed. The loan, checks made out to cash, and now credit card bills and a mortgage. In just a few months, Harry’s finances had completely spiraled out of control.
She emerged from the bathroom and checked the thermostat. Eighty-four degrees. She turned it down to seventy-two and trudged into the kitchen.
The small television on the counter blared out the morning news. “...Fredrick Svensson plunged to his death in a snowshoeing accident.” The CBC reporter lifted a hand to brush stray hairs from her face as the wind whipped across.
“The accident in the mountains is thought to have occurred two days ago, when Svensson was last seen in the back country. Search and rescue located his body early this morning but will delay the recovery operation at least to tomorrow, due to the approaching storm front.”
The sky behind the reporter was dark, with low clouds obscuring the peaks of the snow-covered mountains behind her. Several men laden with backpacks and skis on their backs stood off to the right of the camera.
Kat turned the volume down and joined Harry sat at the kitchen table. Stacks of books were piled on the table, barely leaving space for his orange juice glass.
“Did you eat, Uncle Harry?”
He sipped his juice. “Oh, a long time ago.”
The heat inside the house was oppressive. As usual, all the windows were closed tight. Kat unlatched the window in the breakfast nook and pushed it open.
“What did you have?” She stuck her head out and inhaled the cool air.
“Can’t remember. Don’t open that window—the burglars will get in.”
“It’s stuffy in here. How can you breathe?” Something smelled rotten. She opened each cupboard one by one. A half-eaten hamburger inside the third door had sprouted gray fur. She picked it up with a paper towel and gingerly carried it to the trashcan.
“Want some orange juice, Kat?” Harry picked up his glass from the table and motioned to Kat.
“Sure.” Kat grabbed a glass from the cupboard and walked over to the table. She located the orange juice carafe behind a stack of newspapers and poured herself a glass. She froze as she noticed his bare ring finger. “Where’s your ring, Uncle Harry?” He hadn’t removed his wedding ring since Elsie died, or in the forty years of marriage before that.
“Oh.” Harry raised his hand to his mouth. The corners up his mouth turned up into a bashful grin. “I think it dropped down the drain.”
“Really? Which sink?” If it was still in the trap, Jace might be able to fish it out. She’d ask him to have a look tonight.
“Uh, the kitchen sink. No, it was the bathroom.”
Kat gulped her juice. Usually it refreshed her after a run, but this batch tasted a bit off. Harry had probably kept it out of the fridge too long. She pushed aside a pile of books and set her empty glass down on the table. “Coming to the office today?”
“Sure.”
“Great. We can carpool. We’ll stop at my place for breakfast. I’ve got to pick up a few things.” Jace would watch Harry while she showered and changed for work. It was part of their routine to ensure Harry was eating. Food might help calm her stomach too. She winced as another cramp gripped her stomach.
Kat’s thoughts slipped to Harry’s Visa bill. It was unexplainable, just like the mortgage, renovation loan, and thousands of dollars in checks made out to cash in his checkbook. Everything was spiraling out of control, and she felt powerless to stop it.