But now I know I’m a worker and a con artist and maybe a murderer, too. And if there is one thing I want to prove to myself, it’s that I can be different.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I say.
Barron shrugs philosophically.
Mom reaches for her teacup, and I see the flash of a fat blue topaz circled in diamonds sitting on her first finger, over her leather glove. The ring’s new. I shudder to think where it came from. Then I spot the ring on the other hand. The stone is reddish, like a single droplet of blood spilled into water.
“Mom,” I say hesitantly.
Something in my expression makes her look down at her hands.
“Oh,” she gushes, clearly pleased. “I met the most fantastic man! He’s absolutely perfect.” She waggles the finger wearing the topaz. “And such good taste.”
“He’s the one I was tel
