“He had gotten me the job. He had been so nice.” She uncrossed the arms and walked back across the room to the hearth. Embarrassed again and angry because of it. The orange and white cat stretched, then sat up and stared at her. “Toby was in nursery, I was in school, I was studying for the real estate exam, I had a life. It was months before I heard from Sal again, and when he called I was surprised. I didn’t think there would be a second time. The third time it was Charlie, and then the calls were every few weeks, and then every week, and then there it was. The New York Times runs an article on organized crime and they feature the DeLuca family. That’s how I found out. I’m laundering money for the mafia. I’m taking the cash profits they’re making from prostitution and gambling and whatever else they do and I’m cleaning it for them. I called Charlie. I said I can’t do this anymore and Charlie comes to the bank and he says that I will keep doing it for as long as they want because I’m a stick of furniture and then he locks the door to my office and takes out his penis, and I thought, oh God, he’s going to rape me, he’s going to use me to show me what I am, but he doesn’t. He urinates on the carpet and he says, you see, this is what I can do, and then he left.”

She was trembling as she said it. The cat hopped down from the couch, walked over to her, and rubbed against her ankles. I don’t think she felt it.

I said, “If you want out, go to the cops. You’re in with Charlie and Sal. That’s worth something. You could cut a deal.”

She shook her head again and walked back to the window and looked at the boy. The cat followed her. He wasn’t as big as the cat who lives with me, or as scarred, but he was okay. “No. Going to the police means witness protection. We’d have to give up everything we have.”

“Looks like you’re giving up a lot right now.”