“Can we stop them from foreclosing?” I asked. “Monica said tomorrow.”
“Monica’s not a judge,” Helen said. “We can ask the court for emergency relief. We can challenge
whether that lien is even valid.” She stopped beside her car and looked at me. “But I want to be straight with you. That doesn’t mean the bank will just vanish. Or that everything gets fixed tomorrow. This is going to take time.”
I nodded.
Strange as it sounds, I was grateful for that.
For four years, people had made me promises. Don’t worry, Becky, the truth will come out. Don’t worry, the jury will see. Don’t worry, we’ll appeal. I’d learned that promises don’t mean anything.
A straight answer was worth more to me than all the reassurance in the world.
For the next few weeks, I split my days in two.
In the mornings and evenings, I took care of Opal. Breakfast at seven. Lunch at noon. Supper at six.
