“She felt so guilty, thinking she’d had sex with another man,” Jake continues, leading me into the stable to tend to the horses, “it was a piece of cake for the family to convince her our relationship was over unless she wanted me to find out what she’d done. ‘And hey, here’s fifty grand to cover moving expenses. Disappear, kid. Don’t call him.’” “You never tried to find her?” “I did,” he tells me. “I found her in some apartment in San Francisco.”
Poor Flora
