by Annie Kelly
“But you’d go together. To the bar, I mean.”
“Sure. Sometimes.”
“Hmm.” The detective stops to take some notes on a pad of paper. I wait, staring up at the wall. Owen clears his throat and I almost wince at the sound.
“I’m going to go have the other staff members start getting ready for the day programs,” he says, standing up and moving toward the door. “We have preschool and a Mommy and Me art class.”
Detective Parks nods. “That’s fine. I’ll be in touch with them personally if needed.”
Which means that my interview was needed. I was a priority. I guess I’m not that surprised. Remy and I were friends and everyone knew it. A half dozen charges on that card were my charges.
Owen ducks out of the room and I lean back in my chair, trying to remain calm and focused. I feel like a criminal.
I cock my head to watch the detective a little closer.
“Have you interviewed Remy?” I ask her.
She stands up from her seat. “That’s classified information.”
I raise a brow. I can’t help it.
“Classified?”
The detective walks toward the door, then back.
“How about we move on to your relationship with your current boss, Owen Marshall?” Detective Parks says.
“What about it?”
“Do you have an . . . intimate relationship with Mr. Marshall?” she asks in a low voice. I turn to stare at her.
“Would you like to define ‘intimate’?” I ask carefully. She smirks at me.
“Are you romantically involved?”
If I didn’t think she’d have me down in two seconds flat, I’d go right for this woman’s throat. I glare at her and shake my head, tears entering my eyes.
“Absolutely not,” I say, enunciating each syllable. I don’t care that I’m lying. I know this shit is none of her damn business.
“I’ve heard otherwise from Mr. Marshall,” she says, “so you don’t need to lie to me.”
She reaches over and opens a slim laptop computer sitting on a nearby desk. She clicks on an icon in the bottom left corner of the screen. And it immediately fills with my face. And Owen’s. Another click and we’re moving. We’re kissing. In the pool.
I open my mouth, then close it.
“This is a surveillance video,” the detective says, as though I’m an idiot. I swallow hard.
“I realize that.”
“Your superiors are aware of all of the camera setups and security measures taken in this building. I’d be careful where you choose to hook up with your boss, Ms. Wallace.”
Which is when I decide I’m just about done.
“Am I being charged with something?” I ask, standing up and crossing my arms.
Detective Parks cocks a brow.
“Not currently, no.”
I shake my head. “Then I’m leaving.”
She walks away from the desk and faces the wall, examining it as though there’s an answer to a question buried deep within.
“One last question, Rainey. Is it possible,” she says slowly, “that Remy was a friend you used for the perks of a job, like a credit card at your fingertips? And then, when he left, Owen was your next target?”
I glare at Detective Parks’s back, wishing I could set her on fire with the heat of my gaze.
“No. That is not possible. I never charged anything for myself. It was always for the center. I can’t speak to the charges Remy made, but I only ever used the card for work purchases.”
She turns and eyes me with interest.
“And I’m assuming that’s something you can prove?”
I feel my anger froth up and around me as though it could drown everyone in the building.
“Absolutely,” I say, my voice measured, “and I stand by every charge on that card. Every dollar I spent was for the good of the children I was working with and working for. You want me to prove it? Bring me the card statement. Show me the purchases. I’ll prove to you beyond a shadow of a doubt that I never bought anything for myself.”
Without another word to Detective Parks, I stand up and walk out of the office. I somehow manage to make it out into the hall and back down the front steps before I burst into furious tears.
***
I’ve managed to pull myself together—at least, I’ve stopped crying—by the time I’ve reached my apartment. When I make it up the stairs, however, I feel my emotions take me over once again.
Remy is standing outside my apartment.
“Rainey? Are you in there?” He is banging on the door and his expression is filled with concern. I lean my hip against the bannister and clear my throat.
“Hey.”
He turns to see me standing there, and the relief in his face is palpable. He cocks his head a bit, clearly aware of my tear-stained cheeks and red, swollen eyes.
“I’d ask you if you are okay, but clearly that’s a useless question. I tried calling you this morning, but it went straight to voicemail.”
I swallow hard, then shake my head.
“I—my phone’s probably dead. I haven’t even looked at it all morning.”
I bite my lip and force myself not to look away.
“Remy . . . what the fuck is going on?”
He blinks at me, pausing only half a second before walking closer.
“How about we go inside?” he asks. I unlock the door and we head straight for the couch—our traditional chill spot. It’s like nothing has changed, but everything’s changed.
I think I could shatter at any moment. Of course, I feel as though I already have.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, flopping down on the couch and giving me a wounded look. “I should have told you what was going on with me. What was happening in my life. I just couldn’t.”
I shake my head. I’m completely exhausted.
“They think I used the card to get cash and buy shit for myself.”
Remy jolts back and stares at me, his expression shocked.
“Seriously—fuck, Rain. I don’t get it. They have no reason to pin this shit on you, I swear.”
“I don’t know—I’m so confused.” I close my eyes and suck in a shaky breath. “Tell me the truth, Remy. What happened? Did you steal the cash?”
Remy is quiet. When I open my eyes, he’s looking down at me. His gaze is filled with both sorrow and regret.
“I should have told you what was happening. I . . . I was broke. The cash I made at work—it wasn’t even covering my rent. I couldn’t survive on the money I was making, not to mention my crazy-ass credit card debt was piling up. I took some advances on the county credit card, and—well, when they didn’t say anything, I kept doing it.”
I stare at him.
“Remy, why? I could have helped you—you have friends who could have helped you.”
He frowns. “I know that now. Maybe I knew it then—but once it seemed like I was getting money for nothing . . . it was too easy to pass up.”
I close my eyes again. “So that lady detective that talked to me today—did she talk to you, too?”
“No—it was a guy that interviewed me. I had to do it in front of Kensington, too.”
“So now what?” I ask, opening my eyes. He shrugs.
“Now, we wait to see if the county and city want to get with the police and press charges.”
“Do you think they will?”
“I don’t know.” He sighs then. “Look, let’s not talk about this anymore. Let me take care of you. It’s the least I can do.”
I stare at Remy for a long moment, then shake my head.
“I think I just want to be alone. I . . . need some time. I know that you didn’t mean to fuck things up this royally, but I’m paying for it. I just want some peace and quiet.”
&n
bsp; Remy bites his lip hard. “What can I get for you? What do you want? Tea? Food? How can I help you?”
“Honestly, I just need to sleep.”
He nods. “Of course. I can keep myself busy while you nap.”
“Actually . . .” I look down at my hands. “I really think I just need some time to process everything. Time alone, I mean.”
Remy cocks his head. “I get it. I mean, I understand if you’re pissed at me. It’s my fault we’re in—you’re in—this mess at all. I just don’t want you to wake up alone and feel like there’s no one here to listen to you.”
I manage a small smile. “I promise—I will call or text as soon as I’m ready to talk. I just want to sleep and try to pull myself together. It’s been a really long night and morning.”
He stands then, smoothing a hand over his skinny jeans as he readjusts from his kneeling position at my side.
“Take all the time you need, doll. Just remember I’m a phone call away.”
I nod and he leans in to press a sweet, chaste kiss to my forehead. Seconds later, Remy slips out of the apartment. When he does, the last thing I hear is the soft click of the door behind him—I fall asleep just a few minutes later.
Chapter Seventeen
I let a few days pass. I don’t go to work. I don’t pick up the phone. I don’t leave the apartment at all.
A few staff members text to check on me. Jenn calls and leaves a message saying that Charlie really needs to speak to me. I just can’t manage to talk to anyone I care about right now. I’m too done. Too devastated.
For the first time since I got this job, I wonder if maybe my parents were right. Maybe I should have gone on for my doctorate. Maybe I should have found a position that’s more elite and better paid. The maybes could drive me crazy today if I let them, frankly.
But, the problem with not answering the phone is that people assume you’re dead and being eaten by wild dogs, à la Bridget Jones. So after a few days of eating ramen and watching Real Housewives marathons, the knock at the door probably shouldn’t have been a huge surprise. Carson has come and gone, attempting to drag me out at various intervals, so I assume it isn’t her.
But my mother is pretty much the last person I expect to see when I open the door.
I try to keep my head on straight, but it’s nearly impossible.
“Mom?” I ask slowly. “What . . . what’s going on?”
“Hey, doll. We brought dinner,” she says, smiling at me. “Your father’s parking the car. Why don’t you invite me in?”
I look at her with wide eyes, then open the door further so she can step through.
“Um, great. Come on in.”
We walk into my tiny kitchen and she sets a plastic bag on the table. “Salad, pasta. A good bottle of wine. I know you weren’t expecting us but . . .”
She wrings her hands for a moment.
“I figured we should have a little . . . chat.”
I blink rapidly, then take a step back.
“I—I just need a minute to change out of my pajamas. The plates and glasses are in the left side cabinet. If you want to get things set up, I’ll be out in a second.”
I force myself to slowly walk back to my room, to change out of my new uniform of flannel pants and an old T-shirt and into some denim leggings and a sweater. I pull my hair up, reapply a little makeup, and then stare in the mirror.
I am in no shape to deal with my folks. I hear a knock and my mother calling out, “Come in!” My father’s booming voice enters the room like a force of nature.
God.
How am I supposed to explain everything to them?
When I make it back out to the kitchen, however, I stop in my tracks. I don’t know how she managed it, but my mom has transformed my little space into a cute Italian bistro. Candles, a tablecloth, all of it.
“Sit,” she says, smiling. She gestures to the table and I pause, then walk over to my father and lean down to kiss his cheek. I notice he’s loosened his tie and removed his suit jacket. He looks relaxed and at home in my apartment. A tinge of something cozy flashes over me. I don’t think my parents have ever seen my apartment since I moved in. They’ve certainly never been over for dinner.
I start digging into my antipasti salad when my father clears his throat.
“Honey, is there anything you want to tell us?”
I take a bite, chew, and swallow, then give my mom as cheery of a smile as I can muster.
“Oh, yeah. I’m just exhausted. It’s been a long few days.”
My mother shoots me a sympathetic glance, then dishes pasta out onto my father’s plate.
“Well, I think you look pale,” she tsks. “And when Hyacinth called us the other day, we felt like it was important that we come visit.”
I blink at her. “Cyn called you?”
She nods, taking a sip of her wine. “She said she was worried about you. She said you weren’t answering calls or leaving the apartment. She thought maybe we should come talk to you about what’s going on. Did you lose your job, Rainey?”
I play with my salad with the tines of my fork. “She shouldn’t have called and bothered you. I’m sorry.”
“You’re not a bother, Rainey,” my dad huffs.
“Of course not.” Mom smiles at me, but her face is tight. Tired. Worried. She can see through my bullshit and bluster enough to second-guess me.
“What’s going on with your job?” she asks, cutting right through the aforementioned BS. I heave in a breath. Might as well get this shit over with.
“I’ve been suspended,” I say, looking down at my plate. “There’s money missing from accounts, and while it’s not my fault, I’m being held accountable.”
There’s silence. A long silence. An uncomfortable silence. Finally, my dad coughs.
“Rainey, we actually knew. We called and spoke with someone at your work this morning and they told us you were on leave. It only took a little prodding to get to the bottom of the deal.”
My mom sniffs. “I always knew your college degree was too good for this job, darlin’. It will lead you along to greener pastures than BYC. I think this is a blessing in disguise.”
I grit my teeth. “I loved that job, Mom. I’m great at it and I didn’t deserve to be suspended.”
“If you want me to, I can bring this up with some lawyer friends in the district,” my dad offers. But I shake my head.
“Honestly, Daddy, I just want you to let me get through this by myself.”
“But, doll, it’ll be just a phone call—I know people who know people . . .”
I shake my head, then go back to my dinner. “Honestly, I’d prefer you didn’t. I’m an adult and I’m responsible for my own actions. I can take care of myself.”
Dad cocks his head, pushing back from his seat at the table, then moves to stand up.
“Rainey, we’re just trying to help. I don’t see why you won’t accept our assistance.”
I blink at him, feeling my anger begin to boil over. It’s been a long couple of days filled with a lot of emotions with no outlet. I desperately need to unleash my fury, but I certainly wasn’t planning to do it on my father.
Then he says something that makes me crack in half.
“I just wish you’d do things like your sisters sometimes, that’s for damn sure.”
I slam a hand down on my table so hard that the silverware and plates jump. Mom jumps a little, too.
“I don’t know if you all just came here to make me feel badly. Maybe you came here to swoop in and save the day. Regardless of the reason, I don’t need you here.”
“Rainey,” Mom says, her voice tinged with reproach. I shake my head.
“No, you don’t get it. Daddy, you want me to be more like Neely? More like Mamie? Well, it ain’t gonna happen. I can promise you that. I’m never going to be a
lawyer or a beauty queen. I’m never going to be the daughter that you parade around at parties for all of your friends to admire, like some kind of enormous fish you’ve caught.”
I stand up and wipe my mouth with my napkin.
“I’m very sorry that you were blessed with two perfect daughters and one disaster, one disappointment. But I refuse to be ashamed for who I am, just like I refuse to cop to something I didn’t do. The city officials have no idea what a great employee they are losing if I lose my job. I’m the asset here—and it has nothing to do with my degree and everything to do with my commitment.”
I spin on my heel and stomp toward my bedroom, feeling petulant and hating every moment of it. I turn around to look both of my parents in the eye.
“I’d like you to leave, please.”
“Rainey . . .”
My mother looks forlorn and my father’s face is beet red. I shake my head.
“Let’s just be honest with each other, Mom. You hated that I had that job. Now, I may not have it at all. And you know what’s sad? We were just beginning this great new program for kids without places to go. We’d applied for grants and didn’t have any resources, but we’ve still managed to pull together an amazing place for a group of teens who needed it. So, maybe you can’t see the value in my job, but I can. I always could.”
I hurry into my bedroom and close the door, leaning back against it and breathing deeply. I close my eyes and try not to listen to the sound of dishes being stacked or the dishwasher being loaded. Of course Mom would insist on cleaning up after getting kicked out. I’d laugh if I weren’t about to burst into tears or punch a hole in the wall.
It takes a good ten minutes for me to be sure that they’re gone. When I finally get brave enough to crack the door open, it feels like the space is completely empty of all emotion. Like they took everything I’ve ever felt with them when they left.
My phone buzzes and I pull it out of my pocket.
Three unread texts—one from Cyn inviting me to a surprise birthday party for Smith, one from Owen asking for me to call him (again), and one from Carson.
I’m on my way there and I’m taking you for a drink. You don’t have a choice.