Elaine looked up at him.
He stared first at her, then at me, and finally at the documents spread across the table.
“What is this?”
Elaine raised the receipt. “It’s proof that I gave you your grandmother’s ring.”
His expression hardened. “This is private.”
“No,” Elaine said. “It stopped being private when you used her as your excuse.”
He turned toward me. “You called my mother in the middle of the night?”
I asked, “Where is the ring, David?”
He gave a strained laugh. “This is ridiculous.”
“Bring it here,” Elaine said.
His jaw tightened as he looked at her. “I was going to give it back.”
Elaine did not blink. “You had three years.”
When he returned, the ring sat inside a cheap black jewelry box. It was not the velvet heirloom box Elaine remembered, only something plain and forgettable, as though he wanted the entire matter to become invisible.
