She breathed in through clenched teeth. A back-of-the-envelope calculation wasn’t required to show that her salary couldn’t cover that kind of a payment, even with the entertainment budget set at zero, their transportation costs cut in half, and no household help. Philip had insisted that they let go of their cleaning lady at the start of the pandemic. Given this new information, Imani couldn’t help but wonder if his fear of exposing the children to COVID had simply been a cover for their inability to afford a weekly maid visit.

“Do you think we can renegotiate with the bank?” she asked.

“I’ll figure something out. Cut costs. A different menu.” Philip was muttering to himself rather than truly explaining anything. “I sold off most of what was in Coffre. But the bar countertop is still there. When restaurants really reopen, somebody will want that.”

Coffre’s fire sale had already happened. Imani couldn’t imagine that whatever was left would be worth more than a few thousand dollars. “Well, school tuition is paid through the year,” she said, trying to be grateful for small blessings. “I can cover, maybe, four thousand a month. I’ll ask to pick up shifts at the hospital.”

Philip set his drink on the counter. “Absolutely not.”

“Woodhill is always looking for clinical psychologists.”

“Yeah, because the crazy people knife those on staff.”

Imani winced at the memory of the case: a Hopkins-trained psychotherapist had been stabbed repeatedly by a patient who’d faked taking his meds after convincing himself that the doctor was trying to poison him. “Patients don’t have access to knives,” she muttered. The assailant in the case had used a ballpoint pen.

“Over my dead body.”

“What else can I do?” Imani snapped. “You took out this loan.”

Philip grabbed both of her arms. His fingers tightened around her biceps like police cuffs placed too high. “Listen, babe, I’ll fix this, okay? I won’t let the bank kick us out of our home. I won’t let them shut down my business. And I won’t let you risk your safety to help. I’ll figure something out.”

Imani couldn’t imagine what solution Philip would invent. But she couldn’t question him anymore. The day’s revelations had knocked her down sure as a taxi speeding through a crosswalk. She lacked the energy to speak, let alone argue.

Imani fell into her husband’s arms, allowing him to rub her back and whisper lies. Things will be fine. I can tweak the menu. The customers will soon return. Tears flowed down her cheeks. The pandemic had been their personal apocalypse. Fighting was futile, Imani thought. Her only option was surrender.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

TONYA