Down the Rabbit Hole

“What, you’re the only one here who can add and subtract? Look, if you think I’m doing a shit job with our finances you can do them. Here!” Instantly angry again, he shoved a pile of papers across the table to her. “You do them.”


She slowly pushed them back, saying, “I don’t think you’re doing a shit job. I was just offering to help, to take a second look. I’m sure it must be something simple . . . a stray decimal point.”

Mostly mollified, he sighed. “I’ve checked and rechecked.” He shook his head in deep regret. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to dip into your inheritance again.”

“Really?” Her half of the money her grandmother left was not a great fortune, but it was a sizable sum held in a trust that her mother controlled until she turned twenty-five in two years. Her mother, however, was an extremely generous and lax guardian who barely blinked twice whenever Elise asked to draw on the funds. “Again? It’s that bad?”

His expression read: I wouldn’t have brought it up if it wasn’t.

She sighed. “I’ll call Mom later; ask her to transfer more money into our savings account. It should only take a day or two, so I’ll call the bank first thing Monday—”

“I’ll call the bank on Monday. You need to march yourself into Winston’s office on Monday and tell him you deserve that promotion. Be firm, sweetheart. You’re better qualified, you have more experience, you’ve been there longer . . . Tell him you deserve it.” He flipped his hands palms up. “There’s no reason for you not to get it, Elise. And the way money disappears around here, we’re going to need the raise.”

He closed the laptop and gathered up the rest of their accounting materials and left her sitting there.

Elise turned to Hank Hill and pushed her big black Daria glasses up against the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t know how to tell him I’d already lost the promotion—that took me another week.” She lowered her gaze to the floor . . . where her pride was. “Took a lot longer for me to figure out where the money was going.”

He was sympathetic. “The bastard. I wouldn’t mind kicking his ass for you.”

She shook her head. “I was stupid. I know it’s a sick, sad world out there. I should have known. I should have seen it. That’s what makes me mad. I trusted him.” She hesitated, then her eyes closed and her shoulders drooped. “Maybe I did know. I think I suspected. Maybe. I just . . . I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe in him. Is that so bad? I loved him. He loved me. It was through thick and thin, good and bad, all that stuff. I never imagined he’d leave me—much less actively position himself to leave me penniless.”

“Dagnabit! Having a heart as big as Texas is never a bad thing. And trusting the people you love should be as easy and safe as using propane for all your residential and commercial needs. And just as natural, too, come to think of it. You’ve got good instincts, Elise. You just need to listen to them and then not overthink what you’re hearing.”

Hank directed her attention back to the gap between the rack of costumes and another scene from her life with Jeremy.

She recognized the expression on Jeremy’s face as he followed her through the blurry image of their kitchen into a much clearer picture of their dining room after work—and from the look on her own face, she knew that a heavy ball of tension was coiling in her abdomen.

“I cooked your favorite tonight—coq au vin.”

“Great. Hopefully it’ll be better than the last time you made it. I’d like one good thing to happen to me today.”

She knew better than to ask about the not-so-good parts of his day, but did so anyway. “Rough one, huh?”

“Rough? That’s mild.”

“What happened?” she asked, turning to light the candles she kept centered on the table—mostly to create a relaxed atmosphere, as opposed to anything romantic.

“Stop. Blow it out. I’m not in the mood for that shit.”

“I thought—”

“Well don’t.” He took his seat at the table. “I’m not in the mood for that either.”