The final straw was a folded motel receipt I found doing his laundry. Riverside Motor Lodge. One room. One night. Paid in cash.
I set it on the kitchen table that evening. Evan froze the second he saw it.
“Where did you get that?”
“Your pocket. I was doing laundry.”
“Why do you have a motel receipt?”
“It’s not mine. I found it. Outside the diner.”
“Is someone asking you for money?”
“No.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“No.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
“I am telling the truth.”
That was when I finally got angry. “Stop lying to me.”
“I’m not!”
“You told me your phone was dead when it wasn’t. You’re hiding money. Coming home late. Your clothes are torn. Things are disappearing from this house. Now a motel receipt.”
“I didn’t steal anything.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“You were thinking it.”
“Then give me another explanation.”
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Finally: “I can’t.” And he walked away.
Two days later, Frank called.
