by Jenn Faulk
Peter nods.
I’m embarrassed myself, but this is my reality now. I have to own it. “Because I was young and stupid.”
That’s the truth. I was nineteen. I thought it was forever. I knew what was right and what was wrong, but I thought what I felt was different, what we had was different, and that it made for different rules.
Peter seems to be listening intently, so I go on.
“I didn’t know that he was married,” I say. Because despite what I did do, knowing that it was wrong, I didn’t do that. I didn’t knowingly become the other woman. Or one of many other women because who knows what Brandon was doing with all that time he said he spent “traveling” for work?
“Oh,” Peter says, nodding again. “Okay, but what does that have to do with why you think he left?”
I have my theories. I’ve spent a lot of hours trying to imagine why Brandon would have taken off with Emma, and the most unlikely reason keeps coming to mind again and again, almost like I’m hoping that it’s the reason for it all.
“I think he finally left his wife,” I say. “Just like he told me he would when I found out I was pregnant with Emma.”
Brandon had said that. After he’d blown up at me for getting myself pregnant (as though I’d done it all on my own), he’d spent a long time pacing his apartment in town, the apartment where I’d been playing house for months, thinking that he was mine, that we had a future, and that everything was going to work out.
Then, he’d told me he was married.
No children in that marriage, he’d assured me, as it had been the first shocked question I’d managed. There’d been a good reason why that was the first question I’d been able to manage, but that doesn’t matter right now and I push it out of my mind, along with all the uncomfortable accusations this brings up, and—
“Brandon told me he wasn’t happy,” I say, focusing on this, on why he might have left. “He said he’d never been happy with Crystal. He wanted a future with me and with Emma.”
Only one of which was a real possibility, because once it became clear months into the pregnancy that he wasn’t going to leave Crystal, I forced myself to be done.
Now all we have is Emma.
Well, all he has is Emma.
Because I’m all by myself here.
Peter watches me. When I don’t go on he presses his lips together again in obvious thought.
“But . . .” he begins. He stops, sighs, then begins again. “But if he wanted a future with you and Emma, then—”
“Then why am I sitting here?”
Peter nods.
“Because,” I say, “it didn’t work out between the two of us.” Then I add emphatically, “But he loves Emma. His wife didn’t know about her and that was always hard on him—not being able to see her whenever he wanted. If he finally decided to leave his wife . . . if he took all that money and disappeared . . . he would have wanted Emma with him.”
It doesn’t sound so crazy the more I think about it. Brandon, living off his fortune somewhere, Emma by his side, settling in somewhere they’ll never be found . . .
Never be found.
“Does this sound possible, at least?” I ask, blinking away tears.
“Yes,” he says with another nod, this one more vigorous. “He wanted to leave Crystal, but he wanted to take his daughter with him. That actually makes a lot of sense.”
Then he stops nodding, obviously puzzling over something. He looks away for a moment in thought, then back to me. “But . . .”
“But what?”
“But I still don’t get why he was making phone calls from Marco Island one minute and Bonita Springs the next.”
He looks down at his placemat one last time, seemingly making up his mind about something before looking me in the eyes and telling me with more confidence than I’ve ever seen from him, “But I’m going to figure it out.”
~Peter~
Crystal’s name wasn’t on anything. The business—and all of the money—was in Brandon’s name and Brandon’s name alone. The only reason I even knew about Crystal was because she shared a phone plan with him, but I’ve already checked out all of her phone activity, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t have anything to do with emptying the accounts.
Brandon put money regularly into an account for Crystal in a manner that looked an awful lot like an allowance, and he also paid her credit card bills every month. By my standards, those bills were exorbitant, but when you consider how much money Brandon was bringing in every month, they probably weren’t that exorbitant at all.
As much money as he had and as sleazy as he seems to be, Brandon seems to have arrived at his money honestly. Three weeks ago—more than a little impressed with the state of his accounts before the “robbery”—I did a quick bit of investigating to figure out the secret to his success. What I found was that seventeen years ago, when he had just graduated from college, Brandon took out a loan and purchased a small, failing travel agency. The owners had been struggling to compete with the plethora of online opportunities travelers had available to them when planning vacations, so Brandon got Serra Travel for a steal. Instead of fighting the Internet like his predecessors had, Brandon worked with it.
He created ads targeting the wealthy, older generation living in Naples, Florida, and then he used cookie-based technology to send small pieces of data from his website to the user’s web browser whenever they clicked on his site. Only about two percent of people who click on a site actually do anything on that site which results in money, but after people visited his site and unknowingly picked up a little packet of data, Brandon was able to run even more purposefully targeted ads that appeared whenever his newly-cookied visitors browsed the Web. Financial returns increased dramatically once people were presented with multiple ads assuring them that Brandon Keller was the very best person to help them book their next vacation.
But advertising alone didn’t get Brandon where he is today. Walk-in or call-in, Brandon apparently managed to relate really well to his clientele (even though most of them were half a century older than he was). He worked with travelers to not only find them the best deal but to make sure they knew they were getting the best deal. He listened to them and filled their itineraries with customized activities that kept them coming back year after year. Within a few years, Brandon began specializing in trips to Mediterranean Europe—another thing that set him apart from his competition in the early days. Brandon had plenty of money to reinvest in targeted advertising, and he soon hired a tiny fleet of assistants to handle the overflow of his burgeoning business. He trained them carefully and sent them to Spain, Portugal, Italy, France, and Greece so that they, too, could become “experts” that provide Serra Travel’s clients with the same attentive, caring, and creative personal service that Brandon himself did. Of course, all that information was courtesy of several review sites I checked out—half of which were likely bogus—but no one gets that many good reviews without doing something right.
And so, long story short, Brandon was a multimillionaire. Only a million dollars or so (only?) had been taken from his accounts, but his business was easily worth 3.5 million, and his home—which was free and clear—was worth another 3 or 4 million from what I could tell. He also probably had some other investments that I didn’t even know anything about because they hadn’t been part of the “robbery.”
Was Brandon living a double life as Maggie suggested? He certainly had enough money that he could pull off something like that without any problem. If that was indeed what was going on, what would that mean for Crystal? Was she still going to get an allowance? What about the house that was in Brandon’s name only?
What if he was having another affair and Crystal found out about it?
I suddenly realize that I need to take a much closer look at all of Crystal’s phone activity. Being “pretty sure” she didn’t have anything to do with the money disappearing isn’t good enough. She didn’t access any of the accounts, but who knows wh
at else she was up to? Especially when I have no idea what Brandon was up to. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Just like before.
But I’m not going to be stupid anymore. I’m going to do whatever it takes to reunite Maggie with her little girl.
“Tell me everything you can about their relationship,” I tell Maggie. “Tell me everything that you know.”
~Maggie~
Crystal.
He wants to know everything I know about Crystal.
“Well,” I begin, wondering where to even start.
Again, I hadn’t known Brandon was married. Let that be clear. Crystal clear.
It made sense, looking back. Brandon was only around half the time. The apartment he kept in the city was certainly not as extravagant as a man with his business and his money would have had as a home. If I had given it any thought on all those nights I spent there right after we met, playing house like an infatuated teenager, I would have asked better questions. I just assumed, though, that he kept it simple because he was “traveling” all the time for business. It made sense to me then. Wasn’t that how he made his money, after all? Traveling?
I never guessed for a minute that I was the other woman. When I told Brandon that I was unexpectedly expecting, he’d told me he had a wife, a whole life apart from this dream we’d been living, and that he couldn’t help me out.
Nope. Sorry. Done.
I should’ve been done with him then. Would’ve been done. But I was weak. A couple of days later, he’d come back telling me how his wife didn’t understand him, telling me that he wanted me, that we’d make this baby thing work, that he’d leave Crystal for me, and . . .
I take a sharp breath, hating how easily I’d taken him back.
But recounting all that isn’t what Peter needs.
“I’ve never met Crystal,” I say, starting with this. “But I know a few things.”
“Like?” Peter asks, listening intently.
“She’s older than me,” I say. “Like, seventeen years older than me. Like Brandon. And she’s rich.”
Peter scrunches his face up just slightly at this. “No, not if her name wasn’t on any of the property titles or any of his accounts.”
“That’s the thing,” I correct him. “She was rich before she knew Brandon. Her dad’s a politician. Was up for a Senate seat a few years back.”
Peter raises his eyebrows at this. “Ahh.”
Yes. Ahh.
“I don’t know the details of Brandon’s business,” I say. “It’s entirely possible that he got the money to start the business from Crystal. The two of them went to the same college, so I’m assuming that they met there, that she bought into his dream like he did, and that they had an agreement. An arrangement.”
Peter frowns at this.
“What kind of arrangement?”
“That he’d make the money, and she’d be happy to be taken care of,” I explain.
Crystal didn’t work. I’d looked around online enough to figure this out. She didn’t work. She did a lot of society things, the Junior League, work for her father’s political party, and organizing charity events. Things that kept women did, unlike the work that I find myself doing as a single mother.
It’s not like Brandon never helped out. Emma wanted for nothing, and his help was consistent enough that I could make ends meet financially. But I didn’t enjoy the luxuries that his wife did, not by a long shot.
Because I wasn’t his wife.
“She has it good,” I say softly, thinking about this. “But she can’t have children. Or won’t have them. I don’t know.”
That was the one thing I’d held onto, back when Brandon had come around with apologies, telling me that I’d given him what Crystal hadn’t. A child. I’d naively believed that it was enough to make him leave his wife for good and be with me instead, but over time, he’d shown who he really was.
How could he be such a good father yet such a lousy man?
Not now, Maggie, I chide myself, blinking back tears.
If I could do it all over again, what would I change? I wouldn’t change Emma, but Brandon . . .
“Did they have a happy marriage?” Peter asks.
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “Brandon said they didn’t. But he lied a lot, so I don’t know how much I could trust what he said.”
“Did she know much about his finances?” he asks.
“Again, I don’t know,” I sigh. So much I don’t know . . .
“And Crystal didn’t know about Emma? Isn’t that what you said?”
“No, she didn’t know about Emma.”
It had been a point of contention, once upon a time, back when I thought Brandon might leave his marriage to make a real family with me. A few times, I’d been tempted to call Crystal myself, tell her about Emma, and speed the whole process along.
But once it was clear that Brandon wasn’t going to leave and that he wasn’t worth having anyway, I kept quiet about Emma.
I didn’t want anyone else having any place in my daughter’s life.
On the off chance that Crystal found out and didn’t leave Brandon’s cheating butt, she’d be Emma’s stepmother. I could hardly stand to send Emma with Brandon when he came to visit, long after my relationship with him was done. How much worse would it have been to send her away knowing that another woman, who would likely be resentful and angry, would be involved?
“She didn’t know about Emma,” Peter murmurs.
“She still doesn’t,” I say.
“Was Brandon paying you child support?” he asks.
“Yes, but not enough that Crystal would have even noticed,” I tell him. “I mean, she had the money Brandon set aside for her. That’s the way they worked. She wouldn’t have even noticed what he set aside for Emma.”
Peter drums the fingers of his right hand on the table. Then, the left fingers. He clears his throat.
“She’ll find out eventually, though,” he points out.
“Yeah, when Brandon kicks the bucket,” I say with a just a trace of venom in my voice. “I’ve imagined that moment.”
“Brandon’s death,” Peter says, watching me with some concern. “You’ve imagined that?”
“Not in gory detail,” I clarify. “Well, not until he ran off with Emma. I might have enjoyed imagining it since that happened. But, no, Peter, that’s not my point.”
“What is your point then?” he asks. Then, he blinks a few times. “I’m sorry. That was . . . was that rude?”
Maybe a little. But I probably deserve it. I probably deserve every bit of all the trouble that’s come my way because I let myself get mixed up with a married man and now I’m imagining his death.
I can’t be punished for it forever, can I? Is this God’s way of giving me just what I’ve earned myself? You reap what you sow, and here I am . . .
Surely not. Surely that’s not how God works.
“I’m sorry,” Peter says again, clearly troubled by my silence. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Of course not,” I say, waving this away, forcing my mind back to the issue. “You didn’t mean anything. But my point. We were talking about my point.”
Peter sits up straighter.
“My point is that you’re right. Crystal would have found out about Emma eventually,” I say softly. I’ve imagined it, how Emma will surely be included in Brandon’s will, how it will all come to light one day, long after Emma has grown up. Hopefully. “But a long, long time from now. I have no desire for her to know anything about Emma until it’s absolutely necessary.”
Peter takes a breath at this, obviously thinking.
“What?” I say, unnerved by his silence. “What are you thinking?”
“Well, maybe with Emma gone now and Crystal connected to the money, or not connected to the money, whichever the case may be . . .”
He says nothing.
I’m hanging on every last word, waiting.
“Go on, Peter,” I say.
“Well, maybe it’s absolutely nec
essary.”
~Peter~
Feminism confuses me to no end. Are men supposed to open doors for women, or not? Are men supposed to pick up the tab on a date, or not? Are men supposed to help women carry a heavy load, or not?
These questions have always flummoxed me, and I think about them all the way home. I didn’t have a chance to open any doors for Maggie at the coffee shop because she was up and out of there as soon as we’d developed a course of action, but I’m still thinking about them. About feminism. About what women want. What did Crystal want?
Was Crystal really okay with having her name on some of Brandon’s credit cards but not on any of his savings, retirement, or business accounts? Was she fine with the fact that her name isn’t on the titles to any of his property? Not having any assets in her own name makes me think that Crystal is not a feminist. It also doesn’t strike me as very smart. I mean, what if he left her? Where would she be then?
Wait a minute. He did leave her. He left her three days ago.
As soon as I get home, I dive into Brandon’s accounts again. Crystal’s spending hasn’t slowed since he disappeared. He has a bank account that’s set up to automatically pay all of her credit card bills, but when autopay tried four days ago there wasn’t enough money in the account and his overdraft protection kicked in. She was probably going to be fine for another month or two, but if Brandon didn’t show his face soon and start making some money and paying some bills, Crystal was going to be in trouble.
Or was she?
Maggie had mentioned that Crystal’s father was a politician and even entertained the idea that perhaps he had helped Brandon get started in his business. Maybe she had her own money and didn’t need to worry about Brandon taking care of her.
I do a little more research on Crystal. Like Maggie said, her father ran for a U.S. Senate seat in Louisiana a few years back. He didn’t win, but he seemed to have a lot of political backers and therefore a lot of money. Crystal’s name keeps popping up whenever I look at his campaign financing. She organized a lot of galas and fundraising events for him. She also dabbled around in some nonprofit things in and around Naples—especially if it involved golf. Crystal, it seemed, liked to get dressed up and make an appearance. I found a lot of pictures of her online. Brandon was rarely with her.
