If You Must Know

by Beck, Jamie

  “Ohmygosh!” I clapped. “I’m writing a song. My dad would be psyched.”

  That elicited a pleased grin. Then he fingered the fret board and strummed, approximating the melody I’d laid out. Figuring a slight buzz could only enhance my creative process, I sank onto the sofa and drank more beer. Eli continued to play his guitar, teasing more out of my simple melody than I could’ve imagined. Out of nowhere, Sesame Street–inspired lyrics came to me. “Moey-Mo, whatever goes wrong, you’re always there to help me along.”

  Eli looked up, smiling. “Just terrible! Keep going . . .”

  He strummed again.

  I set down my bottle and rose, lifting Mo to my hip and twirling with my pup in the living room while tossing out another lyric. “When the world shoots me down, you help straighten my crown.”

  “And there I was, thinking it couldn’t get any worse.” Eli laughed.

  I stopped dancing to nuzzle Mo, then set him on the ground, grinning. “Two failures in a row is my limit. Your turn to throw down something better.”

  I plopped back onto the sofa close to where he’d perched, worried I might’ve pushed him too far.

  His expression softened. He strummed while staring blankly, as if searching for the words in thin air. I waited, enjoying the gentle riff and petting Mo.

  “Mmm, mmm . . .” He paused, eyes closed. “The world crashes in, and I lose my way, yet one kiss from you chases trouble away . . .”

  He opened his eyes and stared at me, all joking evaporated. My mind blanked except for the wish that he’d been thinking about me when he strung those words together.

  “Okay, you win. That’s way better than anything I said. You clearly don’t have to worry about competition from me.” And then, because kidding around made things more comfortable for Eli, I added, “Although I can’t speak for Cat Stevens.”

  “Well, thanks.” He set down his guitar but remained seated on the arm of the sofa, head cocked, gaze unfocused yet somehow still aware of me.

  I guessed he was wrestling with something, so I switched gears to keep things light. “What’s for dinner?”

  His brows rose. “Oh yeah. I almost forgot why you’re here.”

  “Not to be rude”—I crossed my legs and wrapped my hands around my knees—“but while your company is pleasant and I appreciated my first songwriting lesson, a girl’s gotta eat.”

  One side of his mouth quirked upward as he stood and gestured toward the kitchen. “Hope you like red meat. I probably should’ve checked first.”

  “Eli, I eat everything.” I stood, gripping my wrists behind my back. “I’m particularly fond of all the foods that are ‘bad’ for us, like red meat, sugar, and carbs. Hence the four cupcakes I brought for two people. In other words, I’m not one of those salad bitches.”

  “Good to know.” Eli waited for me to start toward the kitchen.

  Instead of preceding him, I looped my arm through his in the least intimate way I could think of.

  “Look at us . . . this friendship thing is going along swimmingly.” I grimaced. “I have no idea why I said that or what that old saying actually means—only that my mom always says it when things are going well. Wonder why the person who coined it chose those words?”

  A “beats me” expression crossed his face. “Maybe because swimming strokes are smooth—you glide through the water nice and easy?”

  “Ah. See, this is why you’re a writer and I make soap.” I released him when we got to the kitchen.

  He snorted affectionately. “The way your mind jumps around fascinates me.”

  “Wish I could claim high-level connections taking place up here.” I tapped my skull. “The truth is that I pretty much blab every thought that crosses my mind at the exact moment it does so.”

  He chuckled. “Let’s start dinner.”

  “Hold up, mister. When you extended this invitation, you didn’t tell me I had to work for my meal.” I theatrically grabbed my chest, teasing him some more. “Now you’re making waves in our little friendship pool.”

  “Can you manage a salad?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s taken me almost thirty years to get my sister to let me try . . .” Then I stopped, momentarily distracted. Amanda had probably finished up her appointment with Kevin and the FBI by now. I was eager to learn about that, but when she’d left, she’d thought she wouldn’t return until after dinner, so right now I’d give the sweet man who was about to cook for me my attention. “But you be the judge.”

  He seasoned the steaks with garlic salt, pepper, and a dash of Worcestershire sauce, while I chopped a carrot. Thank God he didn’t hover or get fussy about salad construction like my family did. After handing me another beer, Eli asked me to follow him to his tiny but magical backyard.

  Six-foot-tall arborvitae formed a wall that hemmed in its flagstone patio, and beds of Virginia bluebell carpeted half the remaining green space. An ivy-covered pergola surrounded a teakwood table set for two. Only one thing was missing. “Got any good music we can listen to out here?”

  “I recently bought some great old albums, but then lost them . . .” With a smile he tossed the steaks on the grill. “Of course I have music, Erin. The bookcases in the living room are loaded with LPs. Go pick what you want.”

  The idea of fondling his albums felt a lot like foreplay. That might be crazy talk, but my body still flushed as if he’d cupped my boobs. “Any preference?”

  “Nope.”

  Mo stayed outside with Eli while I went to investigate the collection. He hadn’t been kidding. A few hundred records, organized by genre (with a decided preference for country), gave me plenty of options. My bluesy mood required the likes of Stevie Ray Vaughan’s Texas Flood.

  Before returning to the backyard, I stopped to check my phone to see if there was any word from Amanda. Instead I saw a rare voice mail notice from my mother. I almost put the phone down, but something made me listen.

  “Erin, it’s Amanda. I’m on my way to the hospital with Mom because I’m having contractions. I don’t know yet if it’s serious, but when you get this message, please call.”

  Crap!

  I tried Amanda’s phone first, but when it went to voice mail, I called my mother.

  “Hello.” Mom sounded anxious.

  “Mom, it’s me. Are Amanda and Willa okay?”

  Eli walked into the kitchen and smiled at the album on the counter, then froze when he noticed my worried face.

  “It’s Braxton-Hicks—from dehydration—but it’ll be okay as long as Amanda rests and drinks more water.” Mom paused. “We’re waiting for the IV bag to empty but should be home in about an hour.”

  “Can I talk to her?”

  “Sure.”

  “Hey.” Amanda sounded tired.

  “I just got your message. I’m sorry I’m not there.”

  “Mom said you’re with Eli.”

  Eli could probably hear my sister, so I cut short any embarrassing questions she might ask. “Mm-hmm. Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “No, don’t come now. We’ll be leaving soon. But if you wouldn’t mind coming home early, I’d like to discuss the FBI problem.”

  Nobody wants to hear “FBI” and “problem” in the same sentence, and it had to be bad if that was a bigger concern than why she was in a hospital bed.

  “I can come now.”

  “No, really. Enjoy your dinner first. I don’t want to ruin your whole night.”

  I wouldn’t be able to enjoy dinner now, but I didn’t want to stress her out. Eli crossed his arms, patiently waiting.

  “Okay. I’ll be home in forty-five minutes.” I shot Eli an apologetic grimace.

  “Thank you. Please give Eli my apologies.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Relax and keep drinking water.” I rubbed the new knot in the back of my neck. “See you soon.”

  After we hung up, I looked at Eli. “I’m so sorry to eat and run
. My sister’s in the hospital with Braxton-Hicks contractions . . . I don’t even know what that means.”

  “False labor.” His voice tightened, and some color drained from his face.

  A boneheaded move—bringing up a pregnancy-related crisis to a man who’d lost his wife and child in one. Clearly my path to circumspection would be long and winding.

  “She’s kind of shaken up and asked me to come home early.” I almost mentioned the FBI, too, but something made me hesitate.

  “I understand. You can take your steak to go.”

  “She won’t be home for at least forty-five minutes, so let’s make the most of the time we’ve still got.” I smiled, but whatever fun we’d been having had ended for the night. My thoughts split in two, and Eli looked like his had, too.

  “Okay, then.” He picked up the album. “Good choice. Let me get this set up.”

  I went outside and pulled Mo onto my lap. His nose twitched as he sniffed out the steaks sizzling on the grill. Normally that aroma made my tail wag, too, but I couldn’t stop thinking about my sister.

  The Lyle turmoil had stressed her out so much that she’d been neglecting her health. She’d stirred so often she couldn’t have slept more than two hours each night. Even I’d found it difficult to get much sleep with the nonstop squeaking of her old box springs. The only silver lining would be that Mom probably felt pretty shitty about her cold-shoulder routine.

  But that didn’t ease my guilty conscience.

  All this time, I’d been telling myself I hadn’t done anything wrong by keeping what I’d seen last Valentine’s Day to myself. That Amanda wouldn’t have believed me. That there was nothing to be gained by confessing now. But lately more troubling questions had arisen. The one I hated most? Why hadn’t I kept tabs on Lyle after that February run-in? I could blame my own grief, work schedule, problems with Max, and so on . . . but deep down there was another sense I didn’t want to examine too closely.

  If anything happened to Willa as a result of all this chaos, I’d never forgive myself.

  The jamming opening notes of “Love Struck Baby” came through the speakers before Eli reappeared. I dabbed at my eyes, but not before he caught me.

  “You’re upset.” He pulled a chair close to me and sat down, elbows on his knees. “Not to make light of the scare, but Braxton-Hicks aren’t typically a serious problem.”

  “It’s not that . . . not really.” I might not have said anything, but Eli wasn’t exactly the town crier. And now that Amanda had involved the FBI, people were bound to find out eventually.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Want to? Not exactly.” I looked at him, filling with need and hope. “But I could use a sympathetic ear.”

  “I’m a good listener.”

  Everyone says that, but I believed Eli. Once he opened my faucet, everything from Lyle and Ebba to the feds came out in a gush. By the time I’d finished, my tears gushed, too, marking the first time I’d cried about any of it.

  Eli swiped them with his thumbs and then held my hands. “You can’t blame yourself for someone else’s bad behavior. None of this is on you.”

  “I don’t blame myself for Lyle’s behavior, but I should’ve told Amanda what I saw instead of letting her live in her fantasy world, leaving her and my mom as easy prey for that bastard.”

  “It’s not like you maliciously withheld your suspicions.” He was being kind, but I could no longer ignore that maybe the tiny part of me that always resented the way Amanda dismissed my opinions might’ve thought she deserved to eat a little crow. God, that made me hate myself. “You had good reasons not to make waves while everyone was still grieving and she was still early in her pregnancy.”

  “What if I was a little spiteful?” My stomach turned rock hard. “She and I haven’t always been close. Maybe subconsciously I figured her not-so-perfect marriage was her problem, not mine. I mean, that makes me a monster like Lyle. And now that she and I have gotten closer, I feel like a fraud.”

  “First, don’t beat yourself up for being human. Everyone has let envy and resentment skew their thinking at some point.” He was kind not to react with disgust, but my self-loathing raged on. “If sharing this information now could actually improve the outcome, I’d encourage you to tell her. But a blowup between you two now would be worse than the one you wanted to avoid this winter, because she really needs your help with what’s coming. From the sound of it, you need her, too. Leave well enough alone and stick by her from this point on . . . That’s really all you can do.” Eli rested his chin on his knuckles.

  “I wish I could fix it or make it up to her.” I’d give anything to make it right.

  He squeezed my hands. “Then convince her not to go to Puerto Rico. It’s too risky. The stress isn’t good for the baby, and no one knows what her ex is capable of at this point. She should let the FBI handle this on its own.”

  “Then my mom will end up with next to nothing.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes when we make big mistakes in judgment, we pay big consequences.”

  “But I’m not kidding when I say it wouldn’t take much to tip my mom into poverty.”

  He straightened in his seat. “She’ll be alive, and more important, so will her daughter and granddaughter.”

  The deadened look in his eyes—a reminder of the consequences he’d paid by going camping late in his wife’s risky pregnancy—made me shut up.

  A flame ominously popped out of the back of the grill.

  “Oh shit. I forgot about the steaks.” Eli exploded off his chair and flipped them, scowling at himself as he spun around to face me again. “Hope you like them charred.”

  My whining had ruined his dinner.

  “Char is my favorite flavor.” I stood and placed my hand on his chest. “Thanks for listening without judging.”

  He covered my hand with his. “You can talk to me anytime, about anything.”

  I could’ve stayed like that—or wrapped my arms around him and held tight—all night. But I needed to lighten the mood before leaving so that the good things that had happened earlier weren’t forgotten. “All this talking has made me hungry, so lemme get the salad.”

  He squeezed my hand before letting go. “It might be the only edible thing at this point.”

  Mo circled our feet.

  “Mo has a fondness for shoe-leather steak, so it won’t go to waste. Besides, I didn’t really come here for the food, Eli.” I didn’t wink or smile or do anything that might be construed as teasing, so that he fully understood my meaning.

  He picked up the plates. “I suppose we’ll have to try this again as soon as your family crises are resolved.”

  That might never happen. “Or sooner. And next time I’ll bring ice cream.”

  He grinned. “Then I’ll think up something to celebrate.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  AMANDA

  Mom was tucking a blanket around my legs in the master bedroom when Erin and Mo barged in. My sister sat at the foot of the bed. “Why are you in here?”

  Mo scampered around their feet, exploring the one room that had otherwise been off-limits.

  “Your sister needs more rest, so we’re trading beds for a while.” Mom stopped tucking and folded her arms across her chest. “She needs the extra space and pillows to get comfortable.”

  “Wait.” Erin’s panic-stricken expression reminded me of Beaker from the Muppets. “So now you and I are sharing a room?”

  “I’m as excited as you are, my dear.” Mom took an empty laundry basket and began stacking it with a few items of clothing, her brush, and other personal items. “Since I’m not as patient as your sister, you’ll have to clean up your own stuff and make your bed every day.”

  My apologetic grimace didn’t register with Erin, who remained somewhat dazed by her new situation.

  “Do you need anything else, honey?” Mom asked me.

  “No, thanks. I’m fine. The contractions have subsided. Please,
let’s all relax.”

  Mom nodded and left the room, presumably to go “unpack” in Erin’s room.

  “I’m sorry.” I reached for my sister’s hand. “You must rue the day you agreed to come live here.”

  “It hasn’t been all bad.” Erin smiled with concern, squeezing my calf. “Tell me everything the doctor said.”

  “I haven’t been a very good mother to Willa.” I patted my stomach.

  “She said that?” A fierce scowl appeared.

  “She didn’t have to.” I shook my head. “I was so proud of myself for filing charges and meeting with the FBI, but the stress took a toll. That plus my anxiety about confronting Lyle and Ebba distracted me from watching my diet and my body’s signals. But Willa’s fine now, and I won’t let that happen again.”

  “I’m sorry this whole situation is ruining your pregnancy. I never wanted this for you, Amanda. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better sister . . .”

  Where had that come from? “We agreed not to rehash the past, remember? Eyes forward?”

  Erin cast a glance into the hallway, nodding. “It looks like this little scare melted the ice between you and Mom.”

  “For now, anyway.”

  She let loose a sigh. “Tell me about your meeting with the FBI. Can they prep you to keep your cool when confronting Lyle? He knows you hate conflict, so he’ll try to use your emotions against you or, worse, not believe your threat.”

  “That’s moot now.” That blow smacked me again.

  Her eyes went wide. “The FBI said no?”

  I pushed the hair off my face. “Agent Crowley went for it, but my doctor says I can’t go to the Caribbean because of Zika and other pregnancy risks.”

  “I never even thought about that, but nothing’s worth putting Willa at risk.” Erin kicked off her shoes and pulled her legs into that yoga crisscross position, then set her chin on her fists.

  “I feel sick about it. I was counting on this plan getting all Mom’s money back. Without the OIA, there’s no upside. When this all hits the papers, Mom might really lose it.”

  “Maybe not. I bet once the shit hits the fan, the fallout won’t be the boogeyman she’s making it out to be. Plus she’ll have Willa to focus on.”