Chapter 2

Three thousand dollars? That would leave me with forty-eight hundred.

I don't want for food, but the fact that my daughter-in-law was thinking of me showed that these past three years of sacrifice hadn't been for nothing.

She was a sensible, good girl, one who knew to care about an old man.

"Oh, Penelope, it's rare to see such devotion in you two. As long as you're doing well, what's it to me if Dad eats a little less meat..."

Before I could finish, a loud crack cut off my sentimental moment.

It was Stewart.

He'd slammed his chopsticks down hard on the table, hard enough to rattle the soup bowl in front of him and slosh broth over the rim.

His head shot up, his eyes fixed on Penelope, the rims frighteningly red.

"Why are you giving him three thousand?!"

Stewart's voice had gone hoarse with agitation.

He turned to look at me, his chest heaving violently.

"Dad! Don't give us a single cent from now on! Keep your pension for yourself. Even if you throw it away, don't wire another cent to my house again!"

The whole dining room fell dead silent in an instant.

I froze where I sat, mouth half open, the smile from a moment ago still stiff on my face.

My grandson was so scared by the sudden burst of temper that he broke into a wail.

Penelope's face went white in a flash, then turned ashen.

She kicked Stewart hard under the table and hissed at him under her breath, "What's gotten into you? Why are you yelling in front of Dad!"

Stewart ignored her, just clenched his fists tight, the veins standing out on the backs of his hands.

"I'm not out of my mind. This money, we can't take it anymore." There was a deep despair in Stewart's tone.

"Stewart... what's the matter with you?" I asked, my voice shaking. "Did Dad do something wrong?"

"Dad, it's not about you." Stewart stood up abruptly. "I'm full. I'm going downstairs for a smoke."

With that, he slammed out the door without looking back.

That left Penelope and me staring at each other.

Penelope forced out an awkward smile. "Dad, don't mind him. His company's been doing layoffs lately, he's under a lot of pressure, and his temper's short."

Was it really because of work pressure?

Looking at the plate of braised pork ribs on the table that no one had touched much, I felt as if a boulder weighing hundreds of pounds was pressing down on my heart, choking off my breath.

The meal ended in a rush, in that heavy, oppressive mood.

Early the next morning, the three of them came again.

The atmosphere was noticeably easier than the night before.

Stewart carried two boxes of my favorite premium green tea, and Penelope had bought a big bag of fresh fruit.

"Dad, I'm sorry about last night. I lost control of my emotions. Please don't take it to heart." Stewart hung his head, like a child who'd done something wrong.

I quickly waved it off. "What's a father and son doing talking like this? When work's going badly, it's normal to grumble a bit."

Holding the child beside him, Penelope smiled. "Exactly, Dad. Stewart's the type who suffers just to save face. But Dad, that thing we settled on last night, let's still do it my way."

"You keep forty-eight hundred a month for yourself and just wire us three thousand. After all, the little one's about to start preschool, so there really are some expenses."

Stewart stood by the window, his back to us, an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

At Penelope's words, his shoulders stiffened slightly, but he stayed silent the whole time and didn't argue back the way he had the night before.

Looking at my son's back, I sighed inwardly.

It seemed the two of them had gone home and closed ranks, and in the end Stewart had bowed to reality.

"All right, we'll do as Penelope says. On the fifteenth of next month, I'll wire the three thousand." I nodded my agreement.

They didn't stay long before saying they had to hurry back to get ready for their early shift the next day, and they left in a rush.

The place went dead quiet again.

I picked up a rag and started cleaning up the mess they'd left behind.

While clearing out the cracks in the sofa, my hand found a wadded-up ball of paper.

I pulled it out and looked. It was a crumpled shopping receipt, one Penelope must have accidentally dropped out of her pocket.

I meant to toss it straight into the trash, but for some reason I couldn't explain, I unfolded the crumpled paper.

The heading at the top of the receipt was a string of English letters, from that newly opened upscale imported-goods grocery store downtown.

I put on my reading glasses and read down the list.

Premium cherries (Grade J): $298.

Australian Wagyu ribeye steak: $450.

Black tiger prawns: $188.

The last line was some brand of imported serum: $1,580.

Total: $2,896.

The date was yesterday afternoon. Which was right before they came back to see me.

My hands began to shake beyond my control, and the thin sheet of thermal paper rustled between my fingertips.

Nearly three thousand dollars.

That was more than half a month of my pension, hard-earned money I'd scrimped together haggling with vendors at the market and buying wilted vegetables.

And they, in just one afternoon at the grocery store, had spent it clean.

Everything they'd bought was the high-end stuff I never dared so much as glance at.

I dropped down onto the sofa, my head buzzing.

If they were living so lavishly, able to afford beef that cost hundreds of dollars a pound and cosmetics that cost thousands,

then why did they still need my money?

Penelope's gentle, considerate line, "Just give us three thousand from now on," now that I thought back on it, was like a ringing slap across my old face.

If they weren't short of money, then what was behind Stewart's near-breakdown, that abnormal behavior of his last night?

Could it be... that the two of them were putting on a double act to con me out of my money?