“She can’t drive an old sedan to her marketing clients,” Eleanor said, and I could hear the fabric rustle as she smoothed the front of her cardigan over her waist.

“You know how hard she works on her image, sweetie.”

“I know how much her car costs,” I said.

“If you just sign your title over to the dealership, your father can go back and buy his ring off the shelf before they melt it down,” Eleanor begged.

“Can you really let your father lose his family heirloom over a seven-year-old car?”

“I’m not taking responsibility anymore for decisions I didn’t make,” I said.