Flo remained behind, looking only slightly less worse for the wear. He probably had nights like this more often and thus was less beat up once the sun rose. “Don’t be too rough on him, Marjorie.”
I exhaled a puff of air, forced a wan smile, but then I looked away, out over the water, so that Flo would not see how hard I was fighting back the tears. I would not try to speak. Flo went on: “He was trying to earn back his money so he wouldn’t have to tell you about the bill.”
“The bill?” I had thought I could not possibly be angrier with my husband just a moment earlier.
Flo nodded.
“And how much was that bill?”
Flo hiccupped, shaking his head. “I’m sworn to secrecy.”
I left Flo on the deck and marched below and right into our stateroom, pushing the door wide open. I noticed that the room, too, now reeked of rum and cigars. Ned, sprawled facedown on top of the bed, did not stir. I walked to the bed and nudged his shoulder. “Wake up.” No movement. “Wake up.”
He roused after a minute, confused, as he let out a pungent exhale. “Marjorie? You startled me.”
“Before you fall into too deep a sleep, I want to know what you lost at the gambling tables.”
He blinked, rolling onto his side and curling into a fetal position. A groan. “Please, can I just sleep for a bit?”
“Ned, tell me.”
“Can we discuss it later?”
“How much?”
He shut his eyes. “I can’t quite remember. But it wasn’t too much. Please, let me sleep.”
“That’s not what Flo said.”
He brought his hand to his tousled hair. “I’m tired, Marjorie. Can’t this wait for just—”
“Ned, tell me right now. How much money did you burn through last night in the casino?”
He sighed, rubbing his ragged face with his palm. After a long pause, he said: “Marjie, let’s just put it this way—not more than some of those diamond necklaces you buy.”
My breath caught, my throat tightening in rage. When I spoke, my voice was low and hoarse: “Ned, those are investment pieces that I will have for the rest of my life. Not the same as getting pickled and throwing money away on cards or green chips.”
My husband said nothing in response.
I pressed on. “I want to know. How much?”
“Fifty-five.”
“Fifty-five dollars?” My mouth fell open in a small puff of a laugh. That, at least, was a relief, even if I was still furious with him. But this was silly. Though I never would have lost fifty-five dollars on any bet, it was a pardonable sum. I exhaled, my body softening with a wave of relief.
But then Ned said, simply, “No.”
“No, what?” I asked.
“Not fifty-five dollars.”
“Fifty-five hundred?”
He groaned, and then shook his head.
Was that the boat suddenly rocking, or just the loss of my legs? I raised a steadying hand and braced against the wall. “Fifty-five thousand dollars? In a single night of gambling?”
The blood throbbed in my ears; I thought it might very well rupture my veins. When my husband said nothing, I went on: “You might as well have set a fire and lit that money ablaze.”
Ned looked as if he wanted to shut his eyes and put the pillow over his head. “Marjorie, I have a wretched headache. Please. Can we discuss this later?”
“Fifty-five thousand dollars,” I repeated with a gasp, still unable to believe the sum. “Why, think about how much good we could have done with fifty-five thousand dollars. We could have endowed a new hospital, a new library. Fed a family for a year—several families.”
Ned rubbed his temple with his fingers in a slow, rhythmic motion. I was pacing the room at this point, needing some action through which to vent my anger. When, finally, he did speak, his tone was acidic, and so were his words. “Please, Marjorie. Go look in your wardrobe, your jewelry chests, and tell me how many starving families could live off of your necklaces alone. You are a fine one to preach to me on frugality.”
This blow was intended to hurt, and it did. Not only because of the way my husband deflected all blame right back onto me, but also, I suppose, because it was true; I did love luxury, and I did treat myself to indulgences with regularity. But in my deepest core, buried as it might be under layers of grape-sized diamonds and custom silk, I still thought of myself as the Battle Creek girl who had grown up next door to a barn. The daughter of a man who had seen it as his mission not only to succeed but also to do good for other people. I was his steward, the heir to that legacy just as much as I was the heir to his millions. And I didn’t want anyone to see me otherwise, least of all my husband. But it was clear, after a comment such as that one, that he did.