by Beck, Jamie
“I’m not alone, remember? I came with my friend.” I pointed in Lexi’s direction again, in case he hadn’t believed me before.
“I meant, why aren’t you on a date?”
My brows rose. “You know how well my last relationship turned out. Add to that my brother-in-law’s latest stunt, and you’d get why my focus is elsewhere.”
He frowned. “What did your brother-in-law do?”
“Oh shoot.” I covered my mouth while debating how to dig out of this hole. In truth, Eli hardly seemed like a guy who mingled and gossiped.
“Can you keep a secret—I mean, seriously keep one?” When he nodded, the idea of discussing Lyle with someone other than my mom and sister came as a relief. “The short version is that he ran off with a bimbo, leaving my sister alone and pregnant. There’s more to it, but Amanda and I don’t have the kind of relationship where I feel I can say more, if you know what I mean.”
“Mm, only child here, so I can’t claim to get the nuances of sibling relationships.”
“I remember.” We smiled at each other, perhaps both harkening back to the bench outside the post office. With the music playing in the background, anyone—including me—could’ve mistaken us as being on a date, eagerly learning bits and pieces of information about each other. If Karen was floating around, I hoped she liked me enough to whisper in Eli’s ear that he could lean on me as he took his first steps forward without her.
“That’s all unfortunate,” he added, “but you seem too young to be cynical about men.”
“Not so young. Just immature.” I winked, and he chuckled. “And not entirely cynical. There are plenty of men out there like my dad. But my thirtieth birthday is soon, and I need to get myself together before I involve anyone else.”
“That doesn’t sound immature.”
“An anomaly, I promise.” I laughed. “Meanwhile, you talk like you’re an old man, yet you can’t be more than thirty-four.”
“Thirty-six . . . despite the baby face.” He circled his face with one hand.
“It’s the eyes.” I could stare into them forever—so bright—like a sunny sky after days of rain. For a few precious seconds we gazed at each other as if there weren’t another thing on earth worth seeing.
The waitress killed the moment when she stopped by to check if we needed refills. We both declined. After she left, Eli folded his arms on the table. “Everyone’s a work in progress, so don’t put your love life on hold while you evolve.”
I’d been around the block enough to recognize the subtle cast of that line, and starving fish that I was, I risked the bite. “If the right man came along—someone honest and interesting—I’d probably throw my heart in the ring again.”
Another period of silence passed before he leaned across the table, dropping his voice. “Since you’re spilling secrets, maybe I should share one of my own.”
Please, God, don’t let the purring in my chest be heard over the twang of Tony’s guitar. “Do tell.”
“The truth is . . .” He swallowed thickly. “You’re the first woman I’ve met since Karen that’s made me feel anything at all. That’s why I came to yoga, and also why that psychic shook me up so bad. I felt guilty, like my being there had hurt my wife, no matter what she supposedly said in her ‘message.’”
Hearing his secret taught me what winning the lottery would feel like, which was equal parts an urge to shriek and an inability to breathe. Amanda would have a smart response—something empathetic and interesting. I wanted to leap over the table and wrap him in a big hug, and maybe add a kiss. Definitely a kiss. Instead, I scooted off the bench and held out my hand. “Let’s go get ice cream.”
“Ice cream?” His head flinched back briefly, brows pulled tight, but he clasped my hand. He didn’t gingerly hold it in awe and trace all the lines on my palm, but my entire body warmed from his touch anyway.
“My dad and I always got ice cream to celebrate a good day or a milestone. From my perspective, what you said is something to celebrate.”
A painfully beautiful smile spread across his face, which pretty much stole my heart for good. It was too soon to say that to any sane person, so it stayed in the vault, but that right there—that smile would make it into the memory jar before the night ended.
Eli gestured toward the door. “Then ice cream it is.”
“Let me tell Lexi. She’ll hang with Tony when he’s done, so it’s no biggie.” Lexi had never been needy or possessive, and Tony’s set would be over soon anyway. It was hard to let go of Eli’s hand, knowing I might not get another chance to hold it for some time.
Less than ten minutes later, Eli and I had ordered ice cream at Dream Cream and found a seat on the bench outside the shop. He’d gotten coffee chocolate chip in a cone, and I’d ordered a sundae with extra whipped cream.
“I’m glad I ran into you tonight.” I licked whipped cream from my chin. No one had ever accused me of gracefully devouring a sundae. “Thanks for the excuse to pig out.”
“You’re welcome.” He’d grown quiet since we’d arrived. Whatever his interest in me, he wasn’t ready to act on it. For all I knew, he was thinking about his wife now, maybe even feeling guilty about what he’d admitted. If I wanted to know this man, it’d require baby steps. Not my strength. “I keep thinking about what you said at the bar—”
“Erin, I—”
I held up my hand. “Let me finish, please. I only want to say that I could really use a new friend. It seems like you could use a new friend, too. So from now on, I’ll drag you out of your house to take walks with Mo, and you think up new excuses to eat more ice cream.”
He tipped his head, blinking at me as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of me. Most of the time that was probably a good thing.
“The walks will keep us from gaining weight.” He licked his cone.
“They won’t hurt, that’s for sure.”
He tossed the uneaten remains in the trash. “I only see one problem with your plan.”
“Please don’t tell me you don’t like ice cream, ’cause that’s a deal breaker. I got a little suspicious when you ordered a coffee flavor.” An animated grimace accompanied my odd sense of humor. “No true ice-cream lover picks coffee over all the other choices. Were you thinking that sounded more macho than raspberry ripple or tutti-frutti?”
“I can’t say that I’ve ever been accused of acting macho.” He grinned.
“Some people see stuff through rose-colored glasses. Mine are more like mirrors in a fun house. Things get a little weird and distorted, but it’s entertaining!” At least I hoped he thought so.
“Duly noted. But let’s get back to your plan’s flaw.”
“Only one? Wow, I’m getting smarter every year. Okay, lay it on me. What’s the flaw?” I shoveled a huge amount of my sundae into my mouth to stop the nervous chatter.
“Maybe it’s not a flaw but a request.”
I swallowed the giant ball of ice cream and fudge so I could speak. “Ask away. You’ll find me to be a very easygoing friend—open to lots of things.”
He cocked his head, his expression so soft it made my heart mushier than the puddle of fudge and whipped cream in my cup. “Well, then, maybe I have my answer.”
“But I don’t know the question.” I held my breath.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head down. “I wonder if, at some point in the future, this new friendship might develop into something more . . .” He glanced up at me without turning his head.
Breathe. “Like I said, I’m open to lots of things.”
Dream Cream’s orange neon sign lit the easy smile stretching across his face. “I’m glad your ex was a thief.”
“Me too.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
AMANDA
Any other day, I might’ve raved about the walnut paneling and Concord dentil crown molding in Kevin’s law firm’s conference room. The beauty of the oval burled-wood table would’ve mesmerized me. I might’ve affectionately stroked th
e butter-soft leather chairs and even admired the freshly vacuumed emerald-green carpet.
I’d never before been to his office, which was luxurious. Formal. Pristine.
Everything I typically loved.
But words like “divorce,” “foreclosure,” and “the FBI” echoing off all its surfaces put those things in a new perspective.
My swollen feet stretched my favorite leather pumps to the point where the stitching might pop. If I could’ve kicked them off without being noticed, I would’ve. Instead, I swiveled in the chair between Kevin and Stan, my back sticky from sweat, while legalese muddled my brain. The stress-and-pregnancy-hormone cocktail didn’t help my concentration.
“What does ‘quasi-judicial’ mean?” The bank’s notice of intent lay there taunting me while Kevin attempted to once more explain Maryland foreclosure law. And yet again, my mind shot to something more pleasant, like contemplating the room’s artwork.
“Never mind,” he said when faced with my drifting gaze. He adjusted his tie. “The key thing is that if you don’t file a request to mediate within twenty-five days of that notice, the bank can foreclose on your house in forty-five days.”
No amount of Visine had helped soothe my dry eyes. The stinging wouldn’t subside without sleep, which I hadn’t had in days. Squeezing my big-bellied body onto a twin mattress accounted for half my insomnia. Mom’s silent treatment made up the other. So far, none of my nightly staring at the ceiling had revealed the secret to sparing us all the public embarrassment of Lyle’s fraud. But Erin was being supportive, and I refused to let my mother bully me. Yes, she certainly had a lot on the line, but so did I. After a lifetime of making her proud, it hurt that she wouldn’t hold my hand and face this with me instead of making it harder.
I unclenched my jaw, massaging the ache. “Mediation seems pointless. I can’t make the late payments. Even if I could, I can’t pay the mortgage absent a lottery win.”
Foreclosure would be another ding to my family’s reputation and leave me homeless. I’d be less worried if I felt I could stay indefinitely at my mother’s. But she’d left the refrigerator door open for two hours the other day and burned her hand getting something out of the oven last night. If her anger didn’t subside soon, I might have to move out, probably to someplace unpleasant like Erin’s former apartment. I would cry about all of it if weeks of chaos and heartbreak hadn’t deadened my emotions.
Kev sighed. “I’ll lend you money to tide you over until things get sorted out. Once Lyle’s arrested, his lawyers will advise him to show remorse to earn leniency, and encourage him to cooperate with you by signing over a power of attorney to sell the house. We could also try to apply pressure with regard to the divorce settlement and custody agreement.”
My generous brother kept talking, but my thoughts raced to Willa and whether she would resent me for putting her father in jail. Or if she might grow up mistrusting all men because of her dad. Nothing my brother offered up helped me solve those problems.
Kevin cleared his throat, which brought me back to the conversation. “File the mediation request to preserve the chance to pay off the bank and move on with a little equity in your pocket. Otherwise the bank will accept the quickest sale in a foreclosure to cut its losses and you could lose all your equity. Worse, any expenses the bank incurs in those proceedings get charged to you, so you could even owe money after the sale.”
I closed my eyes against the unfairness. Then again, I’d blindly trusted my husband to run our finances. Perhaps I was getting exactly what I deserved.
“Thanks, Kevin. I appreciate your generosity.” My hand found his and squeezed it hard. “But I can’t take your money. Our whole plan depends on the FBI agreeing to the OIA and Lyle getting convicted, but we’ve got no guarantee those things will happen. I can’t stomach owing both Mom and you money for the rest of my life.”
“I already spoke with the US attorney for the District of Maryland. Remember when I interned in that office during my first summer in law school?”
I didn’t remember, or maybe I’d forgotten. I could hardly keep track of his career path except to note that it generally trended upward.
“If you get Lyle on tape, he’ll bring charges. He’s already contacted Agent Crowley to let him know, so today’s interview is teed up.”
“This could still go sideways.” I glanced at the box of documents Stan had amassed. My knee hadn’t stopped jiggling for the past ten minutes. “I’m sort of panicking. Mom’s both angry and out of it, walking around talking to herself. She accidentally dumped bleach in a dark load of laundry, then blamed me.”
Kevin sighed. “Any word from the neurologist?”
“No markers for Alzheimer’s or dementia, which is a relief. It seems the lapses are grief- and stress-related. Involving the FBI hasn’t helped.” I stared at my fingers, having chipped some of the pink polish off my thumbnail in a fit of nervousness. “She’s talking about moving.”
Kevin gripped my hand again. “Don’t blame yourself for how Mom chooses to respond to the situation she helped create.” I blinked into his intense gaze, grateful for the way he’d given voice to something I’d felt too guilty to utter. I hadn’t asked for that money. Mom had offered it. That didn’t absolve either of us from our lack of due diligence, but this wasn’t entirely my fault. “The FBI is our best chance of getting things settled properly. This case is below the financial threshold normally required for FBI resources, but the AG’s interest might sway Agent Crowley.”
Something shifted in my belly, as if Willa had overheard our conversation and grown tense. It felt like a cramp, but I brushed it off as nerves.
“Amanda,” Stan interrupted, “I know you’re outside your comfort zone, but Agent Crowley is fair and reasonable. Let’s be optimistic.”
“I appreciate all you’ve done to help, but you two don’t need to sugarcoat this. I know where things stand and that we have to keep moving forward despite my doubts.”
The two men exchanged a look that I couldn’t quite read.
“We should probably hit the road so we aren’t late for the appointment.” Stan scooted his chair back, hands flattened on the table, ready to shove off as soon as Kevin agreed.
I could hear my ragged breath. If asked, I couldn’t have explained exactly why fear now spread through my veins, holding me in place, but it did nonetheless. The anxiety of the unknown, the humiliating buzz that would follow Lyle’s arrest, the uncertainty of my mother’s and my financial futures. My eyes were closed when my brother rubbed my shoulder.
“We’re all in your corner, and we’ll be here to help pick up any pieces. In a year or two, you’ll look back on this and be proud of how you handled it.” He kissed my temple.
“Let’s hope so.” Projecting ahead a year or two to a bleak future that in no way matched the life I’d tried to build made me ill. I cradled my stomach, eager to become a mother my daughter could be proud of.
“Let’s go.” Kevin offered his hand to help me out of my chair. Willa might only be as big as an eggplant at this point, but my distended body made me unsteady, not to mention the pressure she put on my bladder.
Kevin and Stan conversed in the front seat while my heart beat louder with each mile. Through the window, I could see other drivers whizzing past. How many wrestled troubles like mine—marriages gone bad, money crises, self-recriminations?
Twenty minutes later, we’d pulled into the parking lot of the Baltimore FBI office building.
I pressed my hands to my chest in a wasted effort to slow my racing heart. Having never been questioned by any officer for anything—not even a traffic ticket—I let my imagination run wild. What if he didn’t believe me? What if I’d upset my mother for nothing?
“You okay? You’re sweating,” Kevin said over his shoulder.
I fanned myself. “Nervous.”
“I won’t leave your side.” My brother helped me out of the car, and we followed Stan into the building, where we passed through a security ch
eck before heading to the elevator bank.
When the elevator doors closed, hot and cold flashes racked my body. My ears rang and I trembled with nausea, pulling away as if we could run back to the car and forget it all. I’d never hated my husband more than I did while riding up to Agent Crowley’s office.
“Kevin, I’m afraid.” I gripped his arm.
“You’ve done nothing wrong.” He slung an arm over my shoulders.
He wanted me to feel safe, but that required a level of trust I’d probably never again achieve. Before I could reply, the elevator doors opened.
A tall man in a navy blazer and coal-black hair shook Stan’s hand. “Stan, good to see you again.” He turned his sober gaze on Kevin and me. “Mrs. Foster, I’m Agent Crowley. Please, come to my office.”
Four hours and one hellacious drive on I-695 later, I dragged myself into my mother’s kitchen. “Hello?”
No answer.
Good. My head throbbed and I thought I might wilt from exhaustion. I couldn’t remember the barrage of questions, but the humiliation of having to look at Agent Crowley and share the truth—worse, to convince him of my claims—would stay with me forever. Some time alone and rest to recover my strength before going another round with my mother would be a blessing.
I cranked open the window to let in the breeze. It tickled the hairs on my neck but didn’t last long enough to be refreshing. After grabbing at the paper towels and soaking them in cold water, I patted down my face and neck, but it’d take an ice bath to reduce my swelling.
My favorite maternity dress now sported sweat stains that might never come out. I plugged my phone into the charger before collapsing onto a kitchen chair and kicking off my shoes. Bending over to rub my feet proved too much of a challenge, so I leaned back, stretched them out, and wiggled my chubby toes.
Even without my pregnancy-acquired sensitivity to smells, I knew I needed a fresh change of clothes. Heaving myself out of the chair, I then waddled into the living room, at which point I stopped dead. My mother didn’t bother to glance up from the book she was reading in Dad’s Barcalounger.
