Gianna handed me the paper without hesitation. It was a short letter on cream stationery, authorizing my son to charge any amount to my membership, with my name signed neatly at the bottom. I read every word slowly. Then I looked at Gianna and said, quietly enough that only she could hear, “Please don’t approve anything. And ask Marco to bring the house ledger.”
Gianna’s face changed. Marco was the general manager, and the house ledger was only brought out for one person. “Yes, Mrs. Ashford,” she said, almost in a whisper. Trevor frowned. “Mom, what’s going on?” I didn’t answer him. I turned the letter over instead. On the back, in blue ink, someone had practiced my signature eleven times. Beneath it was a grocery list, in handwriting I knew from three years of Christmas cards. It was Vivian’s.
