by Beck, Jamie
We sure didn’t. “Would you really choose a woman who’d interfere in a marriage over trying to fix us and be a father?”
“What if I’m not what’s best for the baby? Maybe I’m not capable of that commitment full-time.”
What was he saying? “You were the one who suggested we start a family. Why would you do that if you weren’t happy?”
“I wasn’t unhappy, and it’s what people our age do—they start families. I got caught up in the fantasy. But Ebba’s flawed like me. We fit better. Maybe I’m simply not a good enough man to deserve someone like you, Amanda.”
“Stop blowing smoke, Lyle. We aren’t teenagers breaking up. We’re husband and wife with a baby on the way. So much will be affected by our decision. You’re letting your trust issues destroy us. Please slow down and look at what you’re doing before you ruin everything over a fling.”
For a second, I thought he might’ve hung up on me he was so quiet.
“You’re right. This is a huge decision.” He paused. “While I’m stuck here locking down investors, give me a little more time, okay?”
The mention of the deal felt like manipulation. “If this deal is so awesome, why aren’t investors jumping all over it?” I stopped myself from saying more, unaccustomed to questioning my husband’s motives, then blurted my growing fear. “Is there even a deal at all, Lyle, or is that a big lie, too?”
“Yes, there’s a deal.” Indignance—always his first reaction to being questioned about anything—replaced the syrupy tone he’d been using. “Do you need proof?”
I didn’t like the places my thoughts were sailing.
“I believe you.” My impending meeting with a PI said otherwise, but Lyle didn’t need to know that. “But proof will help my mother rest easier, and keep Kevin and Erin calm.”
“Remind everyone the first loan payment isn’t even due until the beginning of next month.” The steel in his voice gave me pause, but we were both tense. “I used the money to buy the land, so I’ll send you the deed. Will that satisfy everyone?”
“It certainly won’t hurt.” I almost apologized, but I stopped myself.
During the ensuing silence, I wondered if he’d ever known how much I’d loved him. How I would’ve done anything for him. If he’d wanted a life of adventure, I would’ve gone with him, even if I’d had reservations. All he’d ever had to do was ask. Instead, he’d turned to someone else and left me alone and devastated.
Now I faced single motherhood while he played fast and loose with fatherhood. Should I have suspected this could happen? We are, after all, a product of our genetics.
After I pressed my thumbs against my eyes, I checked the rearview mirror to see if my mascara had run, and noticed Barb coming off the school playground with Collin. Shoot.
“I guess there’s nothing more to say today.” No doubt he heard the quaver in my voice.
“I’m sorry I can’t tell you what you want to hear today, but I’m trying to be honest with everyone.”
Too little, too late.
When I said nothing, he added, “I’ll call you next week.”
“Goodbye.” I hung up, more confused and heartsick, wondering if he’d really thought himself unworthy of me—and if that were true, whether I’d done something to make him feel that way. Had I been too needy, like he’d intimated? My headache intensified. Frantic to flee the parking lot before Barb spotted my splotchy face and made me the next subject of pitiful whispers, I started the engine.
With only thirty minutes until my meeting, there was hardly time to grab something from Oak & Almond on my way home.
Heading in that direction took me past the police station—a handsome colonial-style three-story brick building. My thoughts began to stray, then Erin—whom no one could miss in that skimpy red shirt and decade-old biker boots—burst through its doors.
Erin’s head jerked up at the screech of my tires. She stared at me while I circled into the parking lot and leaped from my car, my heart pounding against my ribs. “You promised you wouldn’t say anything, yet here you are asking Rodri to dig around in Lyle’s and my business.”
She scowled. “Since when have I ever broken a promise to you?”
Strictly speaking, never that I was aware of. However, she had let me take the blame for denting Dad’s car even though she was the one who’d banged into it with the Kohl’s shopping cart. I’d covered for her because I knew our mother would’ve grounded her and made her miss out on the Fourth of July party she’d been talking about for weeks. “Then why are you here?”
Erin crossed her arms beneath her ample chest, her speckled cheeks and neck announcing her emotions. “Max stole Dad’s albums.”
“What?” I reached for her arm, imagining the unholy string of cursing that must have spewed from her lips when she discovered them missing.
It made sense that Dad had left those to Erin given their shared love of those classic tunes, but they were his most personal possessions, and he’d not given a single one to Kevin or me. He’d left me a little money, which I’d used to buy my living room furniture, so in that way I had a piece of him here with me. But it wasn’t the same thing.
“I found out last night when I went to play one. I left him a message warning to call me back or else. Well, twelve hours later, still no call, so I asked Rodri to issue an arrest warrant. Those albums are worth thousands, which makes Max a felon. If he gets caught, he could be fined big-time and go to jail.” She shook her head, the tiny diamond chip in the crease of one nostril glinting in the sun.
She acted tough, but this couldn’t be easy for her. It wasn’t the monetary value that mattered. Those records were her biggest connection to our dad, whom she’d loved more than anyone or anything in her entire life. Bad enough I’d felt replaced in my dad’s eyes, but watching those two share the kind of relationship that I’d once hoped she and I might build had rubbed salt in that wound. Based on my mom’s occasional comparisons of Erin’s attitudes to those of the infamous Patty—Dad’s first love—I think even she envied Erin’s bond with Dad.
“I’m so sorry, Erin.” Neither of us was having a good week.
“For accusing me of breaking your trust?” Erin cocked her head.
I glanced at my feet before peeking up at her. “Well, that too.”
After a brief pause, her shoulders relaxed and her eyes filled with sympathy. “Have you heard from Lyle?”
The recent call had depleted me, so I deflected rather than fill her in on the less-than-satisfying conversation I’d yet to process. “I’m meeting the investigator now.”
“Oh, that should be interesting. Want some company?”
“No, thanks.” Meeting Stan and discussing Lyle would be hard enough without my sister hovering and adding her two cents.
She wrinkled her nose. “I know you don’t want my advice, but if you want Lyle’s attention, send him a clear message. Go straight to Rodri. I guarantee that’d make him jump.”
For a split second a heady rush of revenge tore through me. I could screw Lyle over the way he was screwing with me. But he’d said things that made me question my role in all this. What if I’d unintentionally pushed my husband away exactly like I seemed to do with my sister?
The stakes required me to remain calm and protect my daughter’s best interests. Besides, Mom didn’t want anyone learning about the money.
“Lyle hasn’t stolen anything”—when that deed hit my inbox, I would prove that—“and going public before I know the fate of my marriage is not an option.”
“I don’t get protecting Lyle just because you’re afraid of gossip.” She shook her head. “Then again, maybe gossip would bother me more if I had your perfect track record.”
Perfect? I’d had plenty of disappointments, including the way the baby sister I’d adored couldn’t run far enough away from me our whole lives. Or how I always remained an outsider—with my dad and sister, my sorority, even with acquaintances like Hannah . . . and now with my own husband.
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She scratched her head. “But, man, I’d be stoked if you’d give Lyle his due and move on to find something or someone better.”
I wouldn’t let Erin—whose choices rarely made sense to me—bully me into publicly shaming my husband or embarrassing my mother by prematurely involving the police.
“Like your provocateur way of life is working for you?” I raised one brow and glanced at the police station.
“‘Provocateur,’” she mimicked with a smile. “I like that.”
Naturally.
Then she shrugged, kicking the toe of her boot against the pavement. “Maybe I don’t live a life you’d be proud of, but at least I face my mistakes head-on.”
I stroked my stomach, thinking of the precious life born of my marriage. Her existence alone meant my marriage could never be considered a mistake.
From what I could tell, my sister had no idea what it meant to love someone more than she loved herself. No idea what real commitment—real strength—required. No concept of self-sacrifice. She’d dumped Max when that got boring or hard or whatever it was that had made her choose to walk away—quite easily, I might add. And as recently as my baby shower registry day, she’d picked the fun of Max’s dad’s birthday over the chore of doing something she didn’t enjoy (shopping). “I’ve got enough to deal with without your judgment.”
“Well, then don’t nearly kill yourself while hunting me down, assuming the worst of me . . .” She crouched to unlock her bike without sparing me another glance.
She wasn’t wrong about that part. I’d started this argument before learning about the albums, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to apologize again. “I hope they find Dad’s records. I mean it.”
She hitched one leg over the bike. “Oh, trust me. Max had better hope they find him before I do. But either way, I will get those records back.”
She winked and then pedaled away, strong and sure like she attempted most things in life, despite being single and broke, with no firm or immediate prospects of improvement in either category. Amazing. A demoralizing flicker of envy struck. For all my accomplishments, that confidence eluded me. It was the one trait I hoped my daughter would inherit from my sister.
I slipped back into the driver’s seat and slammed the door, praying Stan was a kind man.
Five minutes later, I pulled into my driveway. A man who looked remarkably similar to Uncle Bob—my dad’s brother, who lived in North Carolina—got out of the silver Ford Focus parked along the curb. Barrel-chested, a shock of salt-and-pepper hair, caramel-colored eyes. Slightly bowlegged, too, with a neatly trimmed beard. The sight of him—and the inescapable reality of my life—made me want to cry all over again.
As the investigator made his way toward me, Michelle Callow eyed him from across the street while she retrieved her mail. The social-butterfly mother of superstar twin middle schoolers, she had a habit of being the unofficial “authority” on everything to do with motherhood, education, and sports training. She also didn’t shy away from gossip. Wearing a bright smile, I waved at her as if there were nothing at all remarkable about this burly older man visiting me in the middle of the day.
“Mrs. Foster?” The man extended his hand. “I’m Stan Whittaker.”
“Hello.” The formality seemed silly given the intimacy of his mission. I shook his hand, trying not to stare too closely at him. “Please, call me Amanda.”
His kindly eyes sparkled. I restrained myself from seeking a hug. After all, he was not my uncle, and now wasn’t the time to indulge a longing for my father. Blinking to clear my misty eyes, I gestured for him to follow me inside while clearing my throat. “Can I get you some water or iced tea?”
“No thank you.”
“Okay.” I set my purse on the kitchen counter. “Shall we sit at the table, or do you prefer the living room?”
He scanned the house as if he were memorizing everything, keeping hold of his soft-sided briefcase. “Actually, if you have an office, let’s begin there.”
“That’s fine.” I led him through the house to Lyle’s office, checking my emails for the deed Lyle had promised to send.
We’d been so proud of this small, walnut-paneled room, with its french doors and built-in bookshelves that currently displayed Lyle’s real estate broker awards. How different it all looked to me now—the liar’s den. Those late nights “working” in here had probably been a cover for private messaging and phone or FaceTime sex.
Bile rose up my esophagus—a bitter punishment for my oblivion.
“Do you mind if I sit at the desk?” Stan asked.
I cleared my throat. “Not at all. But I should mention that this might be unnecessary. I spoke with Lyle less than an hour ago. He’s still in Florida meeting with potential investors, but he promised to send me the deed to the land he bought.”
“And you believe him.” That statement held no judgment. In fact, it was almost a question, like he was nudging me to continue with the inquiry just in case.
I glanced at my feet, wanting to defend Lyle yet unable to give Stan an unequivocal answer. After all, I’d been so aggrieved by the state of our marriage I hadn’t thought to ask specific questions about the project—like an address. “Let’s proceed with the understanding that if the deed comes in and checks out, we’ll call this off and I’ll work out my marriage—or divorce—with lawyers.”
“Understood.”
“Should I log you on to the computer?”
“In a moment. First, I’d like to ask you some questions about your husband’s affairs—business affairs, that is.” He grimaced. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Inside I died another tiny death. That humiliation would continue times one hundred once others in town learned the truth. Questions. Whispers. Plenty of phony comfort. That I’d been so openly proud to be his wife made it all worse.
Rumors chum the waters, like with the Millers, or when Laura Blair’s husband slept with their nanny. People always questioned how the spouses couldn’t tell what was happening. Even I’d wondered that about Laura, but now I knew. When you love and trust someone, you don’t think to be suspicious. You don’t look for clues or betrayals. You simply live and love with no more thought than it takes to breathe.
Stan took a seat and removed a legal-size yellow notepad from his case. Something about that old-school manner inexplicably calmed me. I trusted him, and not only because my brother had referred the ex-cop to me. “Kevin sketched out some basic details to make it easier on you. But I’d like to quickly review the facts to confirm that I’ve got accurate information.”
“Certainly.” I stroked my stomach absently.
Stan proceeded to recite Lyle’s full name, birth date, birthplace, and other such information, including his work history—or at least that from the past few years. I added Lyle’s social security number, Tom’s contact information, and what little I could recall about the condominium-development deal. When we finished with that, Stan asked me to log on to the computer.
“You’re welcome to stay here while I search through the files.” He glanced up at me.
I stared at the screen, trying to anticipate what embarrassing things he might uncover. “What are you looking for?”
“I’ll start with the search history. You’d be surprised how many folks don’t think to clear it regularly. It could offer important clues about what he’s been planning. And if he automatically saved passwords, that’ll make it easier to get into other sites.”
“Oh.” I nodded dumbly, although my head was already swimming. “I’m sorry. I should’ve thought to do those searches.”
He patted my hand. “It’s hard to think clearly when your emotions are running high.”
“Thank you.” His kindness meant everything because I’d beaten myself up every waking moment since Tom’s girlfriend, Gigi, had hung up on me. “I’d rather not stand over your shoulder unless you need me here. If you have questions, give me a holler, but I’ll be better off doing something else. Otherwise, m
y stomach will churn.”
He looked at my belly. “Let’s not add to your stress. I’ll dig around and call you if I have questions.”
“Perfect.” I stood and uttered, “Good luck,” although it seemed a weird thing to say under the circumstances.
He winked. “No luck needed. I promise, I’ll find the truth.”
I offered a weak smile, picturing Lyle’s face. Those spellbinding blue eyes. The little cleft in his chin, and his long, lean frame. The way he’d share the morning’s most interesting news stories over coffee and then kiss me on his way off to work. If he walked through the door, I’d be as likely to fling myself into his arms as I would to throw a vase at his head. I’d never known I was the kind of woman who might forgive this kind of betrayal, but I’d also never been put to the test.
As hurt as I was, a part of me still wanted to forgive him.
The part of me that Lyle had made feel fully understood and appreciated from our first moment in the gym, that had quit my elementary school job to take the nursery school position so I’d have more time for him and our baby, that had happily worked hard to make our home and relationship a refuge from the stress and disappointments of the world.
The part that had trusted in my happily ever after.
On my way upstairs, the house phone rang. When I got to my room, I saw Aunt Dodo’s number. She shared Michelle Callow’s tendency to lecture, but deep down I believed she meant well. She probably would’ve been less involved in “fixing” the rest of our lives if she’d been able to have children of her own.
Closing my eyes, I sat on the bed, hoping to manage this conversation without disclosing anything my mother wished to hide. “Hi, Aunt Dodo.”
“Oh good. You’re home.”
“Yes. Is everything all right?”
“You tell me. I can’t reach your mom, and she never sent me the baby shower list. It’s only a few weeks away. I’d like to order my gifts and wrap them.”
“Oh, thank you. But I’m canceling the shower . . . or at least putting it off. That’s probably why she hasn’t sent out the list.”
