Page 517 of The Sinner: James

“Yes, it is,” she says, her cheeks flushed.

I set my dessert spoon down and tilt my drink against my lips to take a swig before placing it on the table.

“So why is he so obsessed with money? He wasn’t poor while he grew up.”

Delicately, she runs a napkin over her lips and brings her coffee to her mouth, still chewing on a bite of cake.

She swallows her food and drinks coffee before moving her gaze to me.

“He thinks money is freedom.”

“Money is freedom, but there must be more to the story. That’s what I’ve gotten from talking to him. He grew up here in this nice house. What’s its value now? A couple million, give or take?”

She nods.

“Yes. Two and a half.”

I wait for her to elaborate.

“Well, yes... There is more to the story. I own the house and the businesses, and I’ve managed to stay financially afloat, but Tiago and I have been cash poor since the divorce. I kept a strict eye on the expenses because I didn’t want to get into debt. I also invested part of the money to have some passive income in the future. I’m not planning to get married again or be financially dependent on someone else. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve provided everything he needs. In that regard, he has more than other people, but to him, all this,” she says, pointing around, “has come with strings attached, and we’ve clashed a lot because of that idea. He didn’t like that I didn’t want to sell the house and swap it out for something smaller. He also hated that his father bought the house. Ultimately, he thought having his own money would give him the control he wanted. But money couldn’t help him in that regard.”

I remain silent, and she takes it as a form of disapproval.

“I suggested counseling for him...” she murmurs. “Do you think it worked? No. He’s tough and stubborn––the way you used to be.”

I smile.

“What makes you think I no longer am?”

She searches my eyes.

“Are you?”

I tilt my chin down in response.

She tears her eyes away from me before staring at her glass.

“How is your life as a family man?”

Nostalgia colors her gaze.

“She’s a beautiful woman,” she says, looking at me. “I saw her pictures in a magazine.”

“She’s a good woman, too,” I say, fishing my phone out of my pocket and sliding my thumb over the screen.

I pull up a few pictures of Rain and hand my mother my cell phone to check them out.

“These are from our wedding, and some are more recent.”

She sifts through them.

Her gaze moves up after reviewing the last photograph.

“You make a great couple,” she says.

“Thank you.”

“Are there any plans for kids?”

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