The Room My Father Built
She called me seven months after the sentencing.
It was a Tuesday afternoon and I was in my office and I did not recognize the number, and when I answered it there was about four seconds of nothing and then she said my name.
“Gwen.”
“Beatrice.”
And then she cried for a while, and I sat in my chair and let her, and did not say anything at all, because I could not think of one honest thing to say.
What she wanted was money.