thing and when she came out and crossed the floor to the far side of the bed not meeting my eyes I headed toward the bathroom.
“You’re not leaving,” I told her. “Not now at least. Get dressed. I’ll buy you some breakfast.”
I closed the door and did what I needed to do and thought maybe I should have just let her go. Why’d I tell her to stay? I could use a Saturday morning to myself.
I flushed and came out. She was dressed and making like she was leaving in a hurry.
“Just sit down,” I said.
She turned. The tears were ginning themselves up again.
She sat on the chair beside my bedroom door. I took a seat on the bed facing her. It struck me that she was fully dressed and I was still buck naked. Oh, well.
“What’s going on,” I said.
“It’s my husband.”
“You’ve a husband?”
“Ex-husband, I should say.”
“You should say.”
“He’s got some money that belongs to one of my daughters. She needs it for college and he won’t give it to her. If we don’t have it this week for the first payment, she can’t go to school.”
“You’ve got daughters?”
“Yeah.”
“How old?”
“Eighteen, sixteen and fifteen?”
“I meant you?”
“Forty-six. That matter?”
“It always matters.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-three,” I said. I gave her an obvious once over with my now semi-sober morning eyes. “You look pretty good for a forty-six year old,” I told her.
She started to say thank you but stopped herself and just squirmed in the chair. She was eyeing my nakedness.
“Come with me,” I told her and headed to the kitchen. I needed some coffee to knock the spider webs from my head.
I got some water on the boil and put four scoops of Coffee Emporium’s Supremo Patron in my French press pot. I pointed her over to my livingroom area and told her to grab a seat on my sofa. She took it. She looked fagged out and couldn’t be bothered with arguing.
I stood in the kitchen, eyeing her eyeing my things until the water boiled, then I poured it into the press, gave the grounds a stir with a chop stick and put the lid on to let it steep. The smell perked me up.
“Okay,” I said. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Oh, don’t bother. It’s like I said, my ex-husband has some money that was supposed to be used for my daughter’s college, but he won’t hand it over.”
“You said that. What kind of money? A bank account, cash, mutual funds? How’s it titled?”
“Titled?”
“Whose name is it in?”
“What do you know about this stuff?”
“I’m an investment advisor.”
“You said you were an architect.”
“Did I? Maybe I did. I’m not.”
“You lied?”
“If you say so. Anyway, what kind of money we talking about?”
“It’s about a hundred and fifty thousand dollars her grandparents, his parents, gave her over the years. It’s in some savings bonds. Those ones you buy at the bank. Each of the girls have about a hundred and fifty thousand.”
“How are they registered?”
“Could you put some clothes on?”
“No,” I said. I came around from the kitchen side of the counter to the livingroom side and leaned against it to give her a better view. “How are they registered?” I asked again.
“What?” She was distracted.
“Whose name is on them? Just her name, or her’s and his, or just his?”
“It’s some kind of… U. T. A. A.”
“U.G.M.A.?”
“Yeah. That’s it.”
“So he’s the custodian on her bonds.”
“I guess. I just don’t know how he can keep her money.”
“You mean how can daddy not help his little girl or how can he legally keep it from her?”
“Both I guess.”
“You’re on your own with the first. You married the guy and had three kids with him. You should know. As for the second, the age of majority in Ohio is twenty-one. He’s custodian of the money until she comes to that page in the calendar.”
“Can we make him not custodian?”
“Maybe, I’ve never looked into it. She need the
“You’re not leaving,” I told her. “Not now at least. Get dressed. I’ll buy you some breakfast.”
I closed the door and did what I needed to do and thought maybe I should have just let her go. Why’d I tell her to stay? I could use a Saturday morning to myself.
I flushed and came out. She was dressed and making like she was leaving in a hurry.
“Just sit down,” I said.
She turned. The tears were ginning themselves up again.
She sat on the chair beside my bedroom door. I took a seat on the bed facing her. It struck me that she was fully dressed and I was still buck naked. Oh, well.
“What’s going on,” I said.
“It’s my husband.”
“You’ve a husband?”
“Ex-husband, I should say.”
“You should say.”
“He’s got some money that belongs to one of my daughters. She needs it for college and he won’t give it to her. If we don’t have it this week for the first payment, she can’t go to school.”
“You’ve got daughters?”
“Yeah.”
“How old?”
“Eighteen, sixteen and fifteen?”
“I meant you?”
“Forty-six. That matter?”
“It always matters.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-three,” I said. I gave her an obvious once over with my now semi-sober morning eyes. “You look pretty good for a forty-six year old,” I told her.
She started to say thank you but stopped herself and just squirmed in the chair. She was eyeing my nakedness.
“Come with me,” I told her and headed to the kitchen. I needed some coffee to knock the spider webs from my head.
I got some water on the boil and put four scoops of Coffee Emporium’s Supremo Patron in my French press pot. I pointed her over to my livingroom area and told her to grab a seat on my sofa. She took it. She looked fagged out and couldn’t be bothered with arguing.
I stood in the kitchen, eyeing her eyeing my things until the water boiled, then I poured it into the press, gave the grounds a stir with a chop stick and put the lid on to let it steep. The smell perked me up.
“Okay,” I said. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Oh, don’t bother. It’s like I said, my ex-husband has some money that was supposed to be used for my daughter’s college, but he won’t hand it over.”
“You said that. What kind of money? A bank account, cash, mutual funds? How’s it titled?”
“Titled?”
“Whose name is it in?”
“What do you know about this stuff?”
“I’m an investment advisor.”
“You said you were an architect.”
“Did I? Maybe I did. I’m not.”
“You lied?”
“If you say so. Anyway, what kind of money we talking about?”
“It’s about a hundred and fifty thousand dollars her grandparents, his parents, gave her over the years. It’s in some savings bonds. Those ones you buy at the bank. Each of the girls have about a hundred and fifty thousand.”
“How are they registered?”
“Could you put some clothes on?”
“No,” I said. I came around from the kitchen side of the counter to the livingroom side and leaned against it to give her a better view. “How are they registered?” I asked again.
“What?” She was distracted.
“Whose name is on them? Just her name, or her’s and his, or just his?”
“It’s some kind of… U. T. A. A.”
“U.G.M.A.?”
“Yeah. That’s it.”
“So he’s the custodian on her bonds.”
“I guess. I just don’t know how he can keep her money.”
“You mean how can daddy not help his little girl or how can he legally keep it from her?”
“Both I guess.”
“You’re on your own with the first. You married the guy and had three kids with him. You should know. As for the second, the age of majority in Ohio is twenty-one. He’s custodian of the money until she comes to that page in the calendar.”
“Can we make him not custodian?”
“Maybe, I’ve never looked into it. She need the
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