“Five hundred a week. Weekend visits. Call her Mama. Pretend you’re Tim. That’s my name. She won’t know the difference, Jeremy. She doesn’t know who’s in front of her anymore.”
I stared at the money.
“That’s not right, Sir.”
“Right doesn’t pay your mother’s bills.”
The sentence struck exactly where he had aimed it.
“How did you know about my mother?”
“I asked around. You’re a known quantity, Jeremy. Decent guy. Roughly the right age. Looks the part.”
I should have refused. I nearly did.
“Just weekends?” I asked instead.
“Just weekends. Bring her flowers if you want. Sit there for an hour. Smile. Leave.”
My hand moved before my conscience could stop it. I drew the cash toward myself and felt its weight settle into my palm like a small, heavy rock.
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