by Sarina Bowen
What’s that saying? You know how you eat a whale? One bite at a time.
Yet I’m only on bite number two. It’s going to be a long dinner.
Somehow I manage. God help me, I do. We make small talk and that’s lovely and all, and I just keep taking bite after bite. Ash looks at me sort of impressed at first and then leans in when her mom isn’t looking and says, “What are you doing? You’re trying to kill yourself!” I just smile and take one last long, dry swallow of that weiner on my plate. Maybe it’s not kielbasa at all. Maybe it as an actual cow’s weiner. My stomach is starting to rumble.
I really need some fresh air. Like, right now. Luckily, my phone is vibrating in my pocket. A quick look reveals that it’s the PI calling, so I actually have a wonderful excuse to step outside.
“Beth, Stuart, if you’ll excuse me. I hate to be rude, but this is a call I’ve been expecting.”
“Do you have a lead on selling a house?” Ash asks me, and in a tone that is clear she means you-better-not. I just shrug my shoulders like, “I dunno,” and then step out into the brisk November air.
My stomach rumbles fiercely when I stand up, but I grit my teeth and lurch toward freedom.
“Hello?” I answer the call the second I step outside.
Hank doesn’t bother with small talk. Hank is all business. I love Hank. “Listen, I found the guy and I put a GPS tracker on his car. You can access it by clicking on the link I sent you.”
“What link?”
“In the text message I sent you. I’ve sent you about ten. The dude was near your girlfriend’s house, so I thought you’d want to know. If you got any questions, call me.” And then he hangs up.
He’s not rude or anything, he’s just gruff. Maybe his favorite sportsball team is on TV.
I take a quick look at my text messages and sure enough. There they are:
Perpetrator's legal name is DWIGHT RICHARD ENGERSOLL. The El Camino is registered in his name.
Perp has long list of violations. Mostly white-collar crime, but also prison violence.
This is not a guy to be messed with. I don’t like the smell of him. He stinks of desperation.
For Hank’s sake, I’m hoping that’s a metaphor.
Talked to force friend. They’ve got an APB on him. Missed parole hearing.
That last text is the only good news. If Dweeb went back to jail for jumping parole, that would make Ash’s life easier. But he was near Ash’s house?
I’m starting to feel a little kielbasa green.
And then I follow the link to his tracking app, and I feel downright nauseated. A map fills the screen of my phone. Dwight’s tracker is a red dot on a street. A very familiar street. Right this second, Dwight is parked around the corner from my house. My. House.
Holy shit. If I were less of a man, I might pee myself right now.
Okay. Now is not the time to panic. Now is the time to make a plan.
Except I’m experiencing a rare caveman moment. I want to jump in my car and go find that fucker. I want to attack him in his El Camino. I want to take the law—and his throat—into my own hands.
Smart Braht wouldn’t do that. He’d stay calm, enter the house and discuss this with Ash and her parents. And maybe call the police. This is the point where that would make good, logical sense.
But there is no Smart Braht right now. Smart Braht has left the building. Smart Braht took off when he decided to impress the love of his life by eating the worst dinner on the planet.
In Smart Braht’s place is very angry Hunter. I’m Hulk Hunter. Instead of talking to the Powers, I take a quick peek in at them. They seem to be having an intense conversation, and Ash looks upset.
Shit.
Even Hulk Hunter doesn’t like it when Ash gets stressy. So I take a seat on the porch and do some alternate nostril breathing and meditate. I can do this. I need to stay calm for my girl. She needs me.
* * *
Ash
It happens when I’m watching Braht dry-swallow my mom’s heinous homemade kielbasa. I realize something. I’m actually falling in love with him.
And this is very, very bad.
I can’t fall in love with Braht. I can’t fall in love with anyone. Ever again. I trusted Dwight, and look how that turned out. Sadie trusted Decker, and now she’s going to be a single mom to twins while he runs off to boink a twenty-year-old nanny who is captain of her cheerleading team.
Brynn trusted…Brynn never trusted Steve. They were just bored and decided to get married. But she trusts Tom and Tom…has so far turned out to be amazing.
I’m very, very confused.
I take a nice long sip of water to kind of clear the lump in my throat. The lump is half emotion, half bad kielbasa. Even my lump is confused.
At first I hated Braht. It was fun hating him. He was a great nemesis, all cocksure and dressed in 1980s colors. He’s still a great nemesis. He’s also something more.
Dinner is long and a bit awkward. And not just because of the wretched food. Mom and Dad are being kind, but there’s something they want to talk to me about. The first sign was that Mom cooked at all. The only time Dad lets her in the kitchen is if he’s had a colonoscopy and/or dental work. And he hasn’t had either of those today, I’m pretty sure.
I can also tell that whatever they want to talk to me about, it’s bad. Really bad. I lose whatever appetite I had, push the plate away from me, and just sit back and watch Braht take one valiant, brave bite after another.
Yep. Totally falling for him.
I hear his phone buzzing long before he acknowledges it. I give him a nod so he knows it’s okay and he steps out. Hopefully he’ll take a little walk or something so that my parents have enough time to tell me whatever they want to tell me.
Braht shuts the door behind him and it’s not a second later that Dad says, “Honey, we’ve got to tell you something.” Every muscle in my body clenches as Mom reaches for his hand. Holy shit. My eyes get all teary because I know they’re going to tell me that one of them is dying.
Can we just go back and start today over and have everything be golden and wonderful? Actually, can we go back a little further and make sure my mom misses that chef class for fresh weiner making, because what the fuck was she thinking?
“Honey, you okay?” My dad again. I remember to breathe.
“It’s better if we just tell her, Stu.”
He nods. I’m going to pass out. Please don’t be dying don’t be dying don’t be… “We’re putting the cottage up for sale.”
It’s like there was this giant universe-size vacuum that sucked all the air out of the room and now pushes it all back in. “Is that it?” I cry. “Thank God! I thought one of you was dying.”
Dad laughs. “Dying? What? No. We’re healthy as can be. In fact…”
“We’re moving to Canada,” Mom finishes.
Cue the air suckage again. I can’t process this. Any of it.
“Why?” is all I can manage.
“Well,” Dad says, “We had different plans for our retirement but you remember…”
“Your retirement fund,” I supply. They lost it all when their investment management company—HIMCO—turned out to be a Ponzi scheme.
“Right,” Mom says gently.
I was sixteen years old when they learned that my father’s inheritance and every dollar they’d ever saved had vanished into the mist. It wasn’t just us, though. Lots of people in West Michigan were caught up in it.
That was a scary time. We moved into a crappy apartment so both Mom and Dad could stop paying our big fat mortgage. When you’re sixteen and your clothing allowance gets cut to nothing, it feels like the world is ending.
At the time I thought money troubles were the worst thing in the world. But then I married an asshole and learned that there are worse things.
Moving on.
“We had hoped that we could always keep this place,” Dad is saying. He pats the dining table lovingly. “There’s no mortgage on the cotta
ge, so we held on. It was our last real investment, and thank God, right?”
I’ve heard this before, so I just nod.
“But I’ll be seventy next year, and I want to retire. We’ve been saving as much as we can, but in order to retire I need to sell the cottage.”
“I understand,” I choke out. But I’m sad. There’ve been nineteen years since the collapse of HIMCO. I thought that maybe it was enough time to restock the coffers. But now I realize that was just wishful thinking. My parents don’t share the details of their finances with me. I shouldn’t have assumed that everything was fine.
“It would have been nice to keep it in the family forever,” my dad says. He’s in pain. I can hear it in his voice. “We always pictured winterizing the place and spending time here with you, and your husband and kids…”
Awkward, awkward silence.
“This is all my fault,” I blurt.
“No!” Mom takes over. “Life doesn’t always turn out the way you plan. We can see how independent and successful you are. And maybe you’ll get that husband and kids someday, especially with Hunter in the picture…”
But that isn’t what I meant at all. They have to sell the cottage, and it’s partly because of me. Five years ago, when my life fell apart, they were there for me. Dwight went to jail and I was jobless. They paid for my real estate licensing course and they put off replacing their old car. Because of me.
I’m a spoiled brat. I really am. I never paid back that money. I thought everything was on a permanent upswing.
And now this.
“…But the renovation would require a capital infusion that we just don’t have,” my father says. “I’ve done the math a hundred times. If I sell the house in town, there still just isn’t enough capital to fix this place up. Instead, there’s a small place up in Ottawa that’s available. It’s near where I grew up. I’ve lived in the U.S. for your whole life, but it would be really cost-effective to retire there.” Dad’s eyes are teary too and his voice is thick. Mom takes over.
“We so wanted to be able to leave this place to you someday. Keep it in the family. But we just can’t afford it. If we sell it, we can get that nice place up in Ottawa and you can visit anytime you want.”
Dad and Mom both reach for my hands and it’s like we’re about to have a séance, but there’s no spirit to call in and rescue us now. “We’re so sorry we’ve let you down,” Dad says.
Let me down? Let me down? “You haven’t let me down!” I bellow. “You’ve loved me. You’ve supported me. You’ve shown me what a healthy relationship looks like. I love you both so much and I am going to help you.”
“I thought you could,” my mother says gently. “You and Hunter could work together on it and we’ll get the best price we can.”
“The listing will be mine alone,” I say quickly. Because old habits die hard. “But I will do everything I can,” I say. And I’m suddenly feeling sniffly. Then we’re all crying. It’s really like a Christmas morning coffee commercial. Cue the tissue box.
I hug them both, blow my nose and then say, just because I really need to be honest with my parents, “Please promise me you will never make kielbasa again.”
Mom laughs and nods.
Dad says, “Thank heavens!”
I smile, but inside, I am breaking a little. I love this place. I don’t want to give it up. I think maybe there might be a way to save it. Possibly. If I’m very, very lucky. But I can’t talk about it yet, because it might not work. I’ll need some quality time alone with my calculator and my best pens and some motivational stickers to figure it out.
And even then the math just might not work out.
That’s life, I guess. It kicks you when you’re down. Life kicked my family down and it’s just never let us get back up.
That’s when Braht pushes open the door and gives me a tender smile.
So I burst into tears again.
21 Big Plans and Little Epiphanies
Braht
It shouldn’t feel this good to hold someone who’s sad. I wish Ash weren’t distraught right now. I’d do anything to make it better. But the way she throws herself into my arms gives me so much hope. Right now, she’s chosen me to be her rock. And I will never let her down.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles into my shirt collar.
“Shh,” I say, running a hand down her hair. “It’s all right.” Whatever she’s crying about right now, I will fight it with my bare hands. I will rip its throat out with my teeth and destroy it with fire.
“Get some sleep, sweetie,” her mother urges. “Everything looks a little bleak right now, but it will really be okay.”
“I kn-know,” Ash stammers. “It’s just a house. Nobody died.” She takes a deep breath. She says good night to her parents and then she lets me steer her up to our little love shack. I actually get hard as we climb the stairs. The night we spent together here was one of the best nights of my life.
But poor Ash isn’t thinking sexy thoughts right now. She’s running a hand slowly up the carved bannister, taking in the details of this cottage as if she’ll never see it again.
I think I can guess that this house is somehow doomed. I feel a little sad about it too, and I don’t even have the full story. But there ought to be a shrine on this property—like those historic battle markers you see for Civil War sites.
On October tenth on this spot Sebastian Braht first seduced the woman of his dreams. Casualties: none. Weaponry: dirty talk and first-class salesmanship. Result: only one party shot his cannon, but both parties declared victory multiple times.
Ash gets ready for bed in a daze. She’s wearing that same threadbare, boobalicious T-shirt again, and I can’t wait to lick her everywhere. As soon as I figure out why she’s so sad, I’m going to kiss all the pain away.
After I take my turn in the bathroom we climb into bed, and I pull her into my arms. “Tell me,” I whisper.
“The cottage will be sold. And my parents have to move to Canada.”
This last bit is unexpected. “That’s kind of extreme,” I whisper. “The presidency is only four years.”
She sighs. “It’s a money issue. They don’t have any.”
This surprises me because I was pretty sure that her parents were both well employed. “And Canada is cheaper?”
“Apparently. Also, this cottage is their whole nest egg. They used to have piles of money. But when I was sixteen, they lost it all.”
“Oh.” A chill hits the back of my neck. Then it slithers right down my spine. “Why is that?” I’m asking the question, but I know exactly what she’s about to say. I can feel it in my gut.
“Because of HIMCO.” She sighs. “It was this local investment manager—he was famous for his terrific returns. My grandfather’s trusts were there. And also my dad’s retirement account. Every penny. They lost it all.”
And now I can’t breathe. There’s an elephant sitting on my chest. Ash is still talking, but I can’t hear her because it takes a moment for my brain to catch up to what the pain in my chest already knows.
I’m going to lose Ash. For good. There is nothing I can do about it.
She was never mine to begin with.
“Braht?” she whispers. “Say something.”
“I’m so sorry,” I choke out. And it’s the truest thing I’ve ever said. But I don’t follow it up with an explanation. I don’t tell her that HIMCO was my father’s company. Honestly, a foolish part of me has always thought that maybe Ash knew it already. People talk. Some of my colleagues at VanderMollen know why I changed my last name to Braht. I thought maybe I’d get a pass. Maybe I could finally be happy and have the life I always dreamed with Ash.
She doesn’t know, though. And when she finds out, that’s it. I’m history.
I force air into my lungs and try to think of what to do.
“I’ll be okay eventually,” she says. “Earlier today I was wishing for another listing. Be careful what you wish for, right?”
T
hen she rolls onto my chest to kiss me. Her long legs straddle mine, and she weaves her fingers into my hair. Her perfect tits touch my chest. And then her soft lips meet mine.
And I’m…dead inside. I feel nothing. I won’t let myself.
This is going to end very badly.
“Braht?” she whispers after a single kiss.
Poor Ash is confused, because right about now I should be practically humping her leg with enthusiasm. She doesn’t understand why I’m not ready to lick her everywhere and bang the headboard against the wall.
I can’t actually tell her. Not quite yet. Because first there’s another problem to clear up, and even though my heart is breaking, I will not let her down.
“Dwight is parked around the corner from my house,” I say.
“What?”
“Yeah.” And then I take a deep breath for the first time since she said the word HIMCO. The oxygen is useful to my poor brain, and suddenly I know what to do. “The Dwight situation seems to be escalating. But I found a way to monitor him. And it’s going to be okay.”
“How?” She sits up, looking freaked.
“Listen,” I whisper. “Shh.”
She lies back down on my chest immediately. How horrible that she’s chosen this moment to finally trust me. I stroke her hair just once so that I’ll remember the feel of it later. This might be the last chance I’ll ever have to hold her.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I say. “I have a plan.”
* * *
Ash
* * *
I let Braht drive us back to town in the morning. My eyes feel sandpapery from crying. But sometime last night I got it all out. This morning I feel clear-headed—subdued but not beaten. Cuddling all night was therapeutic. And I need to keep my wits about me if I’m going to stay clear of Dwight as well as save my parents’ cottage.
Rush hour is already underway, and when I turn to see his profile, he’s frowning with concentration. But I take a moment to just admire him. He’s so beautiful. On the outside, yes, but also inside, and that’s the part that matters most to me. Although, come on, the outside is pretty great, too. I can admit how I feel about him now. I fought my attraction to him hard because I was sure there weren’t any perfect men in the world. And there aren’t.
