Thirty-Nine Million Dollars and a Brown Folder on the Kitchen Table

“Fay, please don’t be defensive.

We’re family.”

She brought two teacups to the table and slid one toward me.

The tea smelled like lavender and expensive honey.

“Dad was angry with me in the diner parking lot,” I said.

“He wouldn’t explain the withdrawals.

He just yelled at me for prying.”

“He hates feeling like he can’t provide,” she said.