Hush Money

by T. E. Woods

  “Ever eaten there?” Clay asked. “Because I’m not about to lay down the kind of money that place costs without a personal recommendation from somebody I trust.”

  “I hear it’s all the rage. Everyone who’s anyone and all that.”

  “Know how a guy could get a reservation? I’ll bet folks are dying for a table.”

  Sydney stuttered a step. Clay stopped.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “It’s nothing. Maybe I’m feeling a bit touchy.”

  “About what?”

  When she hesitated, he pointed to a bench a few feet away. They sat side by side. Clay rested his arm along the back, his hand touching her left shoulder.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “The police have arrested someone for the mayor’s murder.”

  “And?” Clay’s tone hinted he was curious what that had to do with her.

  “The person they arrested works for me. She’s a server at Hush Money.”

  Clay leaned back. “And you’re spooked to know you hired someone capable of that kind of violence?”

  She stared at the Capitol and considered his question. “I don’t know. I keep trying to put myself in her shoes. I find myself wondering what Windy is doing right now. At this precise moment. Where is she? Is she scared? Does she have anyone to look after her?”

  “Those are intriguing concerns to have for someone who just killed somebody.”

  Sydney looked him in the eye. “She’s been arrested, Clay. She hasn’t been convicted.”

  He nodded recognition of his mistake. “Tell me about Windy. Are you close?”

  Again Sydney cast about for what had her so upset, but she couldn’t pinpoint the source of her discomfort. “No. In fact, I only met her about two months ago. She applied to work. I’d put my mother in charge of hiring and training the servers. She ran her own restaurant for nearly thirty years, you know.”

  “Is that where you got the bug? Watching your mother’s business?”

  Sydney smiled. “Watching? Clay, you know better than anyone that when there’s a family joint, nobody watches. I remember the bus dropping me off after kindergarten. I’d park myself in the kitchen, eat my favorites off the menu, and spend my afternoons folding napkins and filling salt and pepper shakers. As I grew, so did my chores. By the time I graduated high school there wasn’t a spot I couldn’t fill.” She let out a hearty laugh. “Except for cook. I never got the hang of that. Ordering, scheduling, balancing the books…even long-term business plans. I had everything nailed. But put me in the kitchen and, try as I might, I simply didn’t have it in me.”

  “Now you hire chefs.”

  “Trust me. It’s for the best.”

  “What was your mom’s place?”

  “J and N’s. Stood for ‘Joe and Nancy.’ Mom already had it going by the time I came along, so I didn’t get any billing.”

  “I remember that place! Off the belt line near Fish Hatchery. Meatloaf Mondays. Man, what I wouldn’t give for that recipe! Closed about, what, four, five years ago?”

  “That’s right. I was hoping Mom could relax after all those years of long hours. But she wasn’t built for retirement. She’s been a huge help at Hush Money.”

  “Are you upset with her for hiring…What’s the woman’s name again?”

  “Windy. Like Chicago. And it was me who hired her. She had no restaurant experience. Mom wanted to take a pass. But I insisted. And she turned out to be our best worker.”

  “Good enough to have you this upset about her arrest?”

  Sydney sat quietly for a while. Clay didn’t press her. She liked that he seemed to sense she needed to sort out her thoughts.

  “I think she needed to catch a break,” she finally answered. “Windy, I mean. She’s a single mother. Only twenty-two. Her daughter, Gabby, is five. Windy told me her high school boyfriend’s family moved to another state after Windy got pregnant. She’s got no family around. And from what I understand, that may be for the best. I hoped she’d find a place with Hush Money. Build some security for her and her daughter, you know?”

  He nodded. “Servers in a place like yours can make a nice living. I’m sorry she’s missing the opportunity.”

  “I don’t even know where the jail is. Can you believe that? I’ve lived in Madison my whole life and I don’t know where Windy is right now.”

  “It’s in the lower level of the City-County Building.” Clay squeezed her shoulder playfully. “We’ll leave how I know that for another conversation.”

  “I got her a lawyer.”

  “You did? Sydney, do you have any idea what a criminal defense attorney costs? I do. Again, a story for another time. You’re starting a new business. Do you want to saddle yourself with that kind of debt?”

  “It’s not a problem.”

  “Syd…the Low Down’s a success. Has been for years. But you’ll learn that the big till Hush Money pulls in every night goes straight back into the business. Even the Ten-Ten. The costs of running a restaurant are astronomical. I’d hate for you to lose what you’ve worked so hard for.”

  She turned to face him and saw eyes filled with concern. She hesitated to explain. It was a story she, even after five years of living it, found hard to believe. Fewer than a half dozen people knew where Sydney’s money came from.

  At least on her side. There was no telling how many unknown people on the other side knew.

  She inhaled deeply and took a risk. “I’m adopted.”

  Clay’s face shifted from concerned to curious. “You are? You speak of your mother and father so fondly.”

  “They deserve every kind word and more. But I always knew I wasn’t their biological child. They never hid it from me. When I was a kid, I got two celebrations every year. My birthday, of course. Then, two days later, we’d celebrate my Gotcha Day.”

  “The day your parents first got you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Sounds like you had a good childhood.”

  “No complaints. Well, there were those early teen years when I was certain my parents woke up each morning intent on devising ways to ruin my life, but I grew out of that. When my dad was killed, I don’t know what I’d have done if I didn’t have Mom.”

  “Maybe that’s what you see in Windy.”

  Sydney considered his idea. “You mean how close she must be with Gabby?”

  “That. And maybe something else, too. Tell me if I’m off base.” He took his time before continuing. “Maybe you’re thinking about your birth parents. I mean, as happy as you were with Nancy and Joe, a kid’s gotta wonder what in the world made the people who gave them life give them up. And to a kid, everything’s about them, right? So maybe a part of you wonders what it was about you that wasn’t enough to make them want you. I know that doesn’t make any logical sense, but kids aren’t rational. They take everything on themselves.”

  “Sounds like you know what you’re talking about.”

  “We’re focusing on you tonight.” Clay wore a serious look. “Maybe you see in Windy what a part of you—a part that doesn’t negate one bit the relationship you have with Nancy and Joe—wishes your birth parents would have kept you. Raised you. Maybe it would have been hard, like you see how tough it is for Windy. But Windy accepted the struggle and held on to her child. Maybe you feel close to her in that way. Maybe you want to help ease the struggle a bit. Take her under your wing. Does that make any sense at all?”

  As soon as she heard them, Sydney realized Clay had put words to her attraction to Windy that she’d been unable to articulate herself. “There’s more. Want to hear it?”

  “I want to hear anything you’re comfortable sharing.”

  He held her gaze. She saw in his eyes a promise of confidence. Impulsively, she leaned in and kissed him. Lightly. Quickly. Letting the gentle touching of their lips seal a bargain of trust between them.

  “My birth parents didn’t have to struggle. They could have kept me. They decided to toss me aside
for other reasons.”

  “You’ve met them?”

  “No.” Sydney held on to his hand but turned away. She kept her attention riveted on the limestone edifice in front of her, hoping the potency of the principles for which the Capitol stood might infuse her with the strength to tell her story.

  “Five years ago I had my thirtieth birthday.”

  “And I’m forty. Nice age gap.”

  She appreciated his attempt to lighten the moment. “I celebrated with friends, of course, but, like always, had a special time with my mom. We went out for lunch. She gave me gold post earrings. Real gold. She must have saved all year for them. To this day they’re my favorites.”

  She paused, not knowing how to continue. She was grateful for his supportive silence.

  “After lunch I headed back to my apartment. It was a tiny one-bedroom thing off University Avenue. But I was in my second year as a bookkeeper for a place that’s since gone out of business, and it was all I could afford. When I pulled up, there was a man standing at my front door. Dressed in a fancy suit. Carrying a leather briefcase. He smiled as I walked toward him. Told me he was an attorney and that he had a birthday message for me from my parents. My birth parents.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Yeah. That was my reaction, too. I invited him in. After he introduced himself and gave me his card, he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a flat box. In it was a soft white blanket and an even softer dressing gown. Cashmere. Sized for an infant. Booties to match. He explained they were mine. That my birth mother brought me home from the hospital wearing them.”

  Clay remained silent. She felt him focusing on her face and wondered if he was watching for signs of breakdown.

  “Then he handed me a letter. It was four pages long. Handwritten. Blue ink. The stationery wasn’t marked, but it was creamy and thick. It was from my birth mother. She told me how proud she was of who I’d become. She alluded to things in my life, like how I graduated from UW business school with honors and how sorry she was to learn I’d broken my arm when I was twelve.”

  “Did your mom keep her informed? Was yours an open adoption?”

  “No. My adoption was a surprise for my parents. After they learned they’d never have children of their own, they applied to several agencies. Even hired an attorney to see if he could do anything, but nothing came of it. Infants are hard to come by, you know. After a few years they pretty much gave up. Then, out of nowhere, their attorney calls. A set of birth parents had read their portfolio and selected them to adopt their baby. The attorney told them I was due in a month, so they’d have to make up their minds quickly. Mom says she didn’t have time to open her mouth before Dad told the lawyer to make it happen. They got a call a few weeks later that I was born and I was a girl. Two days after that the lawyer brought me to the house I grew up in. Mom and Dad signed lots of papers and that was that.”

  “Then how?”

  Sydney shook her head, frowning. “The only thing we can figure is they were keeping track of me somehow. Maybe in person. Maybe via one of their attorneys. Who knows?”

  “Did the letter say who they were?”

  “Only that my birth mother and father had once loved each other very much. She wrote that while the pregnancy was a surprise, I was very much wanted. She went on to say that circumstances prevented them from keeping me. She wrote that her people and his had joined together to convince them keeping me would cause a scandal of such proportions that dozens of lives would be ruined. Their people. Isn’t that odd? She begged my forgiveness. She said letting me go was the greatest regret of her life.”

  “How’d you feel about that?”

  “About what she said? Or the fact they were keeping tabs on me?”

  “I’ll take either.”

  “The easier one is their watching me. At first I thought it was creepy. Now it makes me angry. It’s all so one-sided! I mean, what right do they have to know what’s going on in my life while at the same time withholding any and all information about themselves? Like when my dad was killed. If they knew what was going on, then they knew how devastated I was. Wouldn’t you think they’d step up? Comfort me? But no. They stayed at a safe distance. Denying their connection to me, yet satisfying their curiosity over and over again. Like I’m an exhibition in a zoo. It changed me, you know? Even now. I keep scanning wherever I go, watching to see if I can catch a face in the crowd. Hair as black as mine. Green eyes. Last night? Opening night? I kept wondering if they were there. It’s always like that and I hate it.”

  Clay pulled her closer. She leaned against his chest. His lips brushed her hair.

  “And as for her reasoning…I look at my mom and dad, how they worked to give me a good life. I try to imagine what kind of circumstances would make them walk away. I come up with nothing. Scandal? Who cares? A president can get blow jobs in the White House and no one blinks an eye. What scandal could warrant throwing me away?”

  “I don’t know, Sydney. I don’t know.”

  “I asked the attorney for names. I shook that letter in that poor man’s face and demanded to know who’d sent him. He couldn’t tell me. Not because of client privilege. He explained he’d been hired by another firm. From another city. He was tasked to deliver the package to me and that’s it. I asked what firm, what city. Of course, that was privileged information. He handed me one last envelope. In it was a short note. Same creamy vellum. Same handwriting. My birth mother asked that I accept the attached check. She said it was my birthright.” Sydney heard the bitterness in her voice. “Money. That was what she gave me. No names. No history. No explanation. Just cold hard cash to keep the scandal baby quiet.”

  “Hush money,” Clay whispered.

  “Yeah. Want to know how much it was worth to them to keep my existence a secret?”

  “Only if you want to tell me.”

  She thought for a moment and realized not only did she want to tell him, but somehow she needed to tell him.

  “Fifteen million dollars.”

  She focused on where her body touched his. Her cheek against his chest, close enough to hear his heartbeat. His arm around her. His breath on her hair.

  She felt no physical response to her announcing what to others might have seemed a jaw-dropping number.

  “I guess that explains how you can afford to open two restaurants and hire a lawyer for Windy.” He was silent for a moment. “Have you heard from your birth mother since?”

  “No. Just that one letter, the check, then nothing. And I’ve spent the last five years trying to put the puzzle together. Mom figures my birth parents must be famous. Politics. Hollywood. Who knows? When I’m particularly stubborn she changes it to royalty. Says I act like everyone should bow to my wishes.”

  A small laugh rumbled in his chest, vibrating against her cheek. “Is that something I should be on the lookout for?”

  She sat up. Studied his gray eyes. “You know my secrets now.”

  He gave a slow nod, keeping his eyes on hers. “And you know none of mine.” He smiled. “There anything I can do?”

  “Maybe one thing.”

  Despite the shadows of deepest night, she caught a twinkle in his eye. Then he leaned in and gave her a long, slow kiss.

  Chapter 14

  NOW

  Windy Fields had the awareness even before she opened her eyes.

  It’s Sunday.

  Her bladder was calling out for relief, but she kept her eyes closed.

  Gabby will be in soon. Reminding me that cracking the eggs into the bowl is her responsibility. “Pancakes, Mommy! Pancakes!” I’ll put some cottage cheese in the batter. Gabby likes them that way.

  She shifted her legs and felt the scratch of the thin, harsh blanket covering her.

  We’ll go to the dog park after breakfast. Gabby will run. The dogs will chase her. She’ll lie down on her back and let them lick the maple syrup off her face. “When I get ten years old, Mommy. You promised me a dog when I get ten years old. Don’t forget
!”

  A tear spilled from her still-closed eyes.

  I can stay here. If I keep my eyes shut, I can stay here. I can listen for the sound of Gabby running down the hall.

  I can pretend. I can pretend forever.

  She opened her eyes and turned away from the glare of the overhead light. The one that never went out, not even when the hallway lights were dimmed. The cinder-block walls were painted an industrial gray. It reminded Windy of a battleship that had come to Chicago back when she was Gabby’s age. Her father had taken her to see it.

  “Look at the size of her, baby. It’s ships like this that keep our country safe.” He’d hoisted her easily atop his shoulders. “But you don’t need to worry about that, do you? Long as I’m around, it’s my one and only job to make sure the bad guys keep far away from you.”

  He was gone less than a year after that. Crossing the street to grab a newspaper before heading into the gypsum plant where he’d made foreman of a twenty-man crew just the day before. Dropped dead in the middle of Torrence Avenue. Her mother loved to retell the story, especially the doctor’s description, whenever she’d had too much whiskey. An event that happened as regularly as noon and midnight.

  “Dead before he hit the ground, that sawbones told me. Heart just quit on him. That was that for me. He was on his way up. Woulda made floor supervisor in another two years. I’d be sitting on a satin pillow eating chocolates if your daddy had lived. Instead here I am, wasting my prime taking care of the likes of you.”

  Windy had spent her childhood trying not to be the burden her mother never hesitated to remind her she was. When the pain got to be too much, she’d remember the words of the man who’d sworn to protect her.

  But the bad guys came, Daddy. I draw ’em to me like I’m a two-legged magnet.

  Windy tossed off the blanket and put her feet on the icy concrete floor. The toilet was bolted to the wall, formed out of a single sheet of stainless steel and open to the entire cell. She stepped over, pulled down her jail-issued scrubs and panties, and straddled it, squeezing her eyes shut while her urine splashed against the metal bowl. She didn’t need to see whoever might be walking down the hall at that moment, passing the barred door, gawking in at the newbie as she did her business. When she was finished, she went to the small wall-mounted sink. There was only one spigot. She splashed cold water on her face, then cupped her hand to gather enough to fill her mouth. She swished it around before spitting it out.