by Beck, Jamie
Her moving on from a long-term relationship faster than Speedy Gonzales reminded me of Lyle, prompting a burst of anger. “Did he ask you out?”
“No. We barely talked. Like I said, Rodri was there, so it was all about the albums. I did get a peek inside his place. It’s super cozy. You’d like it—very tidy.” She gesticulated like she was re-creating the space in her head.
“Does he have a girlfriend?”
“No idea, but it sounds like you hope so.” She frowned. “I really didn’t get a chance to learn much, but I think he’s sad about something. He looked a little sad, anyway, but I could be wrong.”
At times, my sister’s severe hair, piercings, and such made her appear intimidating, even threatening. But her animated musing made her very attractive, even if I envied the sweet rush of a new crush. “What’s he look like?”
“A ’90s-era Jared Leto. And there were guitars everywhere. I saw at least six.”
“Another musician.” I hoped my eyes hadn’t rolled again, but, truly, hadn’t she learned her lesson with Max?
“I have no idea, but I know what you’re thinking. A—you’re wrong, this guy’s not like Max. He has his own house and he lives like a grown-up. He looks a little older, too . . . maybe Kevin’s age. And B—I’m not seriously looking.”
“So you don’t plan on calling him?” My sister was bold that way, unlike me. I always waited to be asked.
“Wow. I see you’ve taken a crash course in interrogation from Mom.”
“I’m not interrogating,” I said, although maybe I was. “I’m curious, that’s all.”
“Well, I offered to make him free soaps or give him free private yoga lessons, since he lost his money on the albums. If he tracks me down, I’ll see what happens.” With that, Mo came over and jumped on her. She scooped him into her arms. “Oh, don’t worry, Fluff. You’ll always be the real love of my life.”
Lyle was allergic to cats and said dogs were babies that never grew up. But I liked both. If I had a pet now, maybe I wouldn’t be so lonely. I glanced around Erin’s apartment, which hadn’t much clear floor space. “Maybe I should help you straighten up in case he wants to come do yoga?”
Erin glowered. “No. This is me in all my glorious mess. Either he likes me or he doesn’t. I won’t pretend to be you to impress him.”
“I doubt he’d be impressed by me. Especially lately.” Nobody would.
“Well, he hasn’t called, so clearly he isn’t impressed by me, either. Guess we’re both having a losing streak lately.” She laughed at her offhand remark, which told me she didn’t mean it as an insult. It hurt anyway. “Besides, my main focus is on myself and my business, so love will have to wait. But what’s this help you need from me?”
“Oh, that.” I’d almost forgotten the reason I came. It had been nice to think about something other than Lyle and Mom for a few minutes. “Can we sit?”
“Want some iced tea?” She set Mo back on the floor and trotted over to the refrigerator. Mo followed and stopped at his water bowl.
“Sure.” I sat at the little dining table. One end had enough clean space for a couple of glasses. The rest was covered with all kinds of products, some of which smelled like pine and citrus. Both were better than the patchouli odor that had clung to Max like a second skin. “You know, with school ending soon, I’d be happy to help you organize Shakti Suds. Maybe I could help you with a newsletter, too? I’ve done a lot of them for the nursery school.”
Erin handed me a glass before taking a seat beside me. “Maybe, but let’s talk about why you came over.”
Once again she ignored my offer of help. Our long-standing dynamic.
“Well.” I sipped my tea, working out the best opening. “The EMTs were at Mom’s today.”
Erin lurched forward. “Why?”
“She’s fine now . . . sorry. I should’ve led with that.” Her panic threw me. Erin put up such a good front of not caring that I sometimes forgot it couldn’t be true. “Mrs. Morton found her passed out beside her mailbox. She’d fainted. No major injuries.”
“Why did she call you when I live closer?” Erin scowled.
I suspected because I ran into Mrs. Morton regularly when stopping by our mom’s, but I didn’t want to escalate hurt feelings. “I’d given her my number after Dad died . . . for emergencies.”
“Oh.” Erin sat back. “Does Mom faint a lot?”
“Not that I’ve ever known.”
“Well, lately she’s been more stressed than usual.” Erin didn’t say more, but I guessed we were both thinking about Lyle and the loan.
“I’m getting concerned.” I risked another glimpse of my sister. “I know she’s only sixty-two, but she’s still grieving Dad’s death—”
“Of course she is,” Erin interrupted. “I still am and probably always will.”
“As will I.” My chin tipped up, resenting the implication that her being Dad’s favorite meant she grieved him more than I did. “All I’m saying is that with this extra financial stress . . . I think she’s alone too much.”
“What’s being alone have to do with her fainting?”
“I think loneliness is affecting her—she’s not sleeping and eating well.”
She nodded, tapping her fingernails on the table. “You don’t like being alone, either. How are you holding up?”
Dissecting myself had not been the purpose of my visit, yet I needed to talk to someone. Mom wasn’t an option, and I refused to go outside the family in case Lyle decided to come home. That left me with no choice but to take a leap of faith. “So-so.”
Erin listened to my update about Lyle’s phone call, his indecision, the flowers, and the deed. If I’d expected her to see anything positive or hopeful, I’d be disappointed.
“What a dick—keeping you on the hook like that. Making out like he’s the poor ‘torn’ victim, then sending you flowers? Total BS.” She grabbed my hand. “You know, this is his loss. Tell me you know that and then walk away.”
I shrugged, unable to lie. The end of my marriage seemed very much my loss.
Erin released my hand and stroked my arm. “Amanda, look at me. None of this is your fault.”
“Isn’t it?” I blinked my watery eyes. “I missed all the signs.”
My sister’s face drained of color, which didn’t make sense. I braced for her to say something else that would inadvertently hurt me.
“You’re not the only one who ignored signs. We both did.” Her gaze wandered as she got lost in her thoughts, but her contrite expression didn’t make sense. She had nothing to do with my marriage. I was about to ask her about it when she continued, “Look at me with Max. I left him alone in my apartment after we broke up. Trusted him to be a good guy, pack his own things, and go. Yet he stole from me. Is that my fault?”
“Of course not.”
“Exactly. Don’t take the blame for Lyle’s behavior.” She wrinkled her nose before asking, “Even if he sent flowers and a deed, he’s still down there with another woman. Why are you still interested in saving your marriage?”
The leaden feeling returned, sinking me in a murky lake of emotion. Erin said the word “marriage” as if it were some abstract concept, which to her it was. But to me it was my life. My place. My everything. How could I not want to save it?
I laid my hands on my stomach. “I’ve read about couples surviving infidelity. And my baby . . .” My voice croaked as the biggest fear surfaced. Lyle might be distracted by lust now, but someday he would want a presence in our child’s life. “I don’t want to split her holidays and birthdays and summers. I don’t want to miss a single moment of her life.”
Erin stared at me for what seemed like a long time. Her resigned expression proved she neither understood nor condemned me. “I know it’s hard for you to let go of the perfect picture in your head, but you don’t need him, Amanda. You’re so much better than he ever was.”
The compliment—while surprisingly lovely—didn’t make it easier to hear criticism
about someone I’d cared about. “I loved him. Loved my life with him. Waking up snuggled close. Sharing meals and walks and dreams. And he did things you never saw, like handing a homeless man his coat on a cold night, or the money he gave Jed Symons to help with bills when he was out of work last year.” At that point I stopped. Bombarding her with words wouldn’t convince my sister of how happy I’d been, or of the sense of peace his love had given me, because she’d never liked Lyle. Yet I wouldn’t pretend I didn’t yearn to recapture those feelings.
“There are other guys out there who can snuggle, talk, walk, and help you raise your daughter. Heck, maybe even one who will make you laugh. I don’t recall ever hearing you and Lyle laugh, and that makes me sad. Don’t you want to laugh?”
We’d laughed. Maybe not the kind of belly laughs that made soda spit from your mouth, but Lyle and I shared lots of little inside jokes, like when he’d mimic that BatDad guy from YouTube he weirdly idolized. It was so out of character it always made me laugh. Or the way he’d sing-talk in the mornings, as if we were actors in a musical. He woke up playful, which was a nice way to start each day. In any case, if I had to choose between belly laughs and security, I’d choose the latter. Then again, Lyle had hardly left me with a sense of security. “I think it’s safe to say we’re not looking for the same things in a man.”
“Really? I bet we both want someone who likes us as we are. Who gets us, supports our dreams, and, most important, is great in bed . . .” She wiggled her eyebrows.
I chuckled from surprise. “So you don’t miss Max? You’re not even a little lonely here by yourself?”
“Not really.” She paused, wrecking my grand plan. “If anything, I wish I’d dumped him before he dwindled my bank account. I’m not sure I can afford to sign a new lease this month, which puts me in a bind. I mean, there aren’t many cheaper places in town that lack hypodermic needles lying about, you know?” She laughed and gulped some tea.
I didn’t find her predicament funny. It did, however, confirm that my plan would benefit both her and my mom. “Maybe there’s a solution that could help you and Mom, although you could never tell her that we cooked it up together.”
“Cooked what up?” Her gaze narrowed.
“Well, what if you moved back home for a couple of months? You’d save money, and you could help me make sure Mom doesn’t hurt herself or get too depressed. I mean, with Dad gone, she’s lonely.”
“Mom and me under one roof without a buffer won’t work. She barely likes me.” That belief—the sole crack in Erin’s confident armor—made a brief appearance before she shrugged it off. Years ago I might’ve considered her attitude babyish. After all, I dealt with her being Dad’s favorite forever without complaining. But now I understood the difference. Dad might not have adored me as he did Erin, but he never picked on me as Mom did my sister.
“That’s not true. She just doesn’t understand why you don’t care about her opinions. And you aren’t exactly patient with her, either. Maybe it’d be good for you two to spend this time together.”
Erin stared into space. “I mean, it is pretty bad if she’s passing out in the yard.”
“And burning pots on the stove.”
“Really?” Erin grimaced. “That’s dangerous.”
“I know. But she can never know we think she needs a babysitter. Can you let her believe she’s doing you the favor—financially?” I flashed my most pleading eyes. “We already lost Dad. I don’t want something to happen to Mom, too.”
Erin stretched her arms across the table and pressed her forehead to its surface before pulling back. “I could use an extra six hundred bucks in my pocket each month, but, my God, I can’t imagine living in that house without Dad.”
We stared at each other for a beat or two, tethered by silent, shared heartache.
I cleared my throat before patting her hand. “That’ll be hard. But you both loved him so much. Start with that common ground.”
Erin was close to capitulating. I could feel it, and I wasn’t prone to that sort of thing.
She shook her head. “I couldn’t take the humiliation or her rejection.”
“Let me broach it like it’s my idea. I think she’ll actually enjoy feeling useful . . . and it’d just be until she gets back to normal.”
“If she and I don’t kill each other first.” Erin rolled her eyes.
“I’ll be the ref.”
“Refs are supposed to remain neutral . . .” She cocked a brow at me, calling me out for often taking Mom’s side. “Gosh, I don’t know. My stomach’s already queasy from the thought.”
“Dad would want us to watch out for her.” I’d never been this manipulative, but Erin couldn’t resist that plea. She’d thank me later.
She glanced at Mo, who’d climbed up onto the back of the sofa to stare out the window. “Mo would love the fenced-in backyard and the shade of the sycamore.”
I felt a pang because when she and Dad had planted it eons ago, he’d envisioned lazy summer days in its shade.
“Let me talk to Mom.” I’d wait an hour and then call Erin with the green light. “If it works out, I’ll help you pack.”
“You shouldn’t lift heavy stuff.” She turned to scan her small apartment. “I might leave most things behind anyway. I mean, the prior tenant left that couch when I rented the place. I could sell my bed and other stuff, pocket the cash, and move into our old room for a while.”
I nodded enthusiastically because I hated almost everything in this apartment. After she saved money, I’d help her shop for new—or gently used—stuff. “Okay. Let me go work some magic on Mom. I’ll call you later.”
She stopped me when I stood to leave. “Hold up. Have you heard back from the PI?”
“Not yet.” I unbuttoned the top button of my shirt and tugged at the collar. “He’s checking on the deed, among other things.”
“I’m sure you’ll hear something soon.”
I shrugged, wishing I could feel a fraction of her eagerness, which told me something I didn’t want to acknowledge about my husband and our relationship.
“I’m sorry. I wish I . . .” She hesitated, appearing to weigh her words. “I wish this wasn’t happening to you. You don’t deserve it.”
This was the second time she’d been almost desperately gentle with me, yet I felt more embarrassed than pleased.
“Fairness never factors much into my life.” That wasn’t sour grapes but a simple acknowledgment that I’d worked harder for things most other people took for granted. “Meanwhile, Lyle should’ve been home days ago. People are asking questions, making it hard to keep the truth quiet.”
“Why hide it?”
“Initially, I didn’t want to complicate a reconciliation. I’m losing faith in that hope, but it hurts to admit that to myself, let alone talk about it with others.”
“Won’t your friends support you?”
Friends? As I said, things others take for granted don’t come easily to introverts like me. “Not without judgment . . . and pity.” I averted my gaze.
“Screw them, then. They aren’t real friends.”
I tilted my head, certain she missed the irony. “Even you have judgment and pity.”
She laughed while holding up her thumb and forefinger. “Only a little. But you shouldn’t have to hide. Call Lyle out for his behavior. Make him the object of disgust.”
“Except I’ll bear the brunt of all the censure and gossip while he’s off in Florida, despite the fact that I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“That’s Mom’s fear talking. Break through that noise.”
I stiffened. “I’m not ready.”
Erin grunted something. “Am I allowed to full-out hate Lyle yet, or is it too soon? ’Cause I really want to hurt him.”
“Sometimes I do, too.” I let the shock of that fan through me. “One second I’m fantasizing about cutting up his sports coats and burning his pictures, then the next breath I’m hugging his clothes and crying.”
&nbs
p; Erin set a hand on my shoulder. “When you’re ready for the bonfire, call me.”
I dabbed my eye and chuckled. “Thanks.”
“Anytime. Now, before you go, I have one favor to ask.”
Uh-oh. “Shoot.”
“Would that PI do some digging on Eli?”
“No!”
“I’m kidding.” She batted my arm. “I mean, I’d love the scoop on the guy, but I’d never spy on him. Once I’ve got a plan for Shakti Suds, maybe I’ll find another way to learn his secrets.”
I remembered the time she took a job with Molly Maids to get inside a guy’s house. Her plan had backfired when she used Clorox Clean-Up with bleach on his marble countertops. “Don’t do anything rash.”
The diamond chip in her nose glinted. “But that’s the best way to do most things.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
ERIN
Shipping products continued to be my least favorite part of building my Etsy empire. Without a car, I’d resorted to transporting boxes to the post office in a rusty red wagon purchased last autumn at a garage sale. Not so great in the rain or snow, which required me to beg friends or family to borrow their cars. On a positive note, I lived only three-quarters of a mile from the post office. The trip to and from there did double duty as one of Mo’s daily walks, and sunny days like today translated to some quality vitamin D production.
“Come on, Mo. Stop sniffing other animals’ poo.” I jerked the leash a tad to redirect him. Crossing the street safely with a dog in one hand and a wagon filled with boxes in the other required focus and a bit of luck.
I didn’t like coming on Wednesdays because Mary worked on Wednesdays and she didn’t like Mo—or any dog—inside the building. As I was of the “better to ask for forgiveness” persuasion, that didn’t stop me from trying. I couldn’t leave Mo tied up outside by himself.
After rolling the wagon up the handicap ramp, I shortened Mo’s leash and bent to lift my three packages from the wagon. It wouldn’t be stolen because no one would want the rickety thing.
“Erin?”
I immediately recognized the voice behind me. Eli! When I turned around, my heart launched into an imitation of a Neil Peart solo. “Wow, this is a surprise!”
