“The one you gave me. The secondary card.”
I looked toward the bedroom window. Rain dotted the glass, catching the orange glow of the parking lot lamps.
Years earlier, after Nathan had gone through what he called a temporary rough patch, I had added him as an authorized user to one of my credit accounts. He had promised it would only be for emergencies.
Apparently, emergencies had become a flexible category.
“We’re at the front desk,” he continued. “They’re refusing to close the account. Claire is furious. They’re talking about getting security involved.”
“What did you spend?”
A pause.
“Nine thousand.”
I thought I had heard him wrong.
“How much?”
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