Through clenched teeth Sydney bit out her next words. "Meaning no disrespect, Marv, but shut up . I'm going to say this one time. I have my own business. I am not responsible for yours. And I will not help you falsify records.
"None, none of this is my fault! You hired Betty Lou. You supervised heror didn't, as the case may be. And you would have been able to call the police and apprehend her with at least some of your money if your books were legit! So don't you dare blame me for this situation. I want an apology. And I quit." Sydney clicked the end call button on her phone and then turned it off for good measure.
She pumped her fist in the air, but without enthusiasm, and slumped back onto the bed among the brown and mustard flowers.
A knock sounded at the door. Julia's voice called, "Sydney? Sydney, it's me. Open up."
What was her sister doing up this early? She didn't move a muscle or say a word.
"Sydney, I know you're in there. And I've got a master key, so if you don't open the door I'll come in anyway."
Syd sighed. It seemed an almost overwhelming effort to heave herself up and off the bed. She kicked at the pizza box again as she passed it. "You forgot about the dead bolt," she grumbled through the door. "I can stay in here 'til next month if I want."
"Without food or clean underwear or fresh sheets?"
Ugh . Julia had a point. "What do you want?"
"Alex has called here about ten times."
"Alex who?"
"He was worried. He wanted to know if you got back here safely."
Syd snorted.
"He said the statistics on madwomen in one boot maneuvering sardine cans are not good."
Syd didn't even crack a smile.
"He wants to apologize," Julia told her. "He feels really bad."
"Next topic."
"Sydney, let me in. Please."
"Which part of 'go away' do you not understand?"
"Don't be nasty. I'm not the one you're mad at."
She's right. None of this is her fault . Sydney opened the door, turned around and flopped back on the bed.
Julia surged in, bright and sunny in a little floral dress and mules. Syd felt like the Swamp Creature next to her. She grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest, glowering at her.
"Alex wants"
"Four-letter word," snarled Syd. "Do not mention that name again."
Julia blinked. "Oh-kaaay. Let me start that sentence over. Roman"
" Five- letter word," hissed Sydney.
"You cannot forbid me to mention my own fiance's name." Julia glared at her.
Syd hunched over the pillow.
"Roman apologizes to you. He would have come to say it himself, but I told him that you would close his head in your laptop and then pitch him out the window."
"Correct."
"Anyway, he apologizes. He knows he stepped over the line. And he also told me that Al"
Sydney growled in warning.
"sorry, Jackass doesn't do anything that he doesn't want to do.
"And"Julia took a deep breath"I know about the ring. Roman told me. And he was mortified, absolutely beside himself."
I'll just bet he was.
"It's been in a bank vault, Sydney, ever since his grandmother died. The first time it came out of there was when Roman signed it out, the night before he proposed to me."
Julia nodded. "I can tell by your face that you don't believe it, but Roman is not responsible for switching the stones. He racked his brains and finally went to talk to his father. His dad remembers a period of about two weeks when his mother wasn't wearing the ring. She claimed the setting was loose, and it was at a jeweler."
She leaned forward. "Here's the proof, though: Roman's dad called the San Antonio dealer that his dad always used whenever he bought Olga jewelry. The one place that she would have trusted to reset the ring, which came originally from Belgium."
Julia's eyes sparkled. "That dealer kept meticulous records, and there's no record at all of him ever resetting the diamond for Olga."
"So?"
"So she took it somewhere else! To Houston, maybe. She sold the stone and had it replaced with a copy. Here's the kicker: It's not a cubic zirconia. It's a very old, very well-cut crystal."
"I'm not following you."
"Syd, if Roman had replaced the stone with a fake, it would have been a CZalmost impossible to tell from a diamond with the naked eye. And it's a mod-ern development. CZs weren't around when Olga did her switcheroo."
"Why would she have done it to begin with?"
"Roman's dad remembers his parents always fighting about money, and Olga liked to shop. She also ran with a social crowd that gave a lot to charity. He thinks she probably switched the ring to save face around her friends and have some pocket money to boot."
Sydney looked at Julia incredulously. She supposed that maybe, just maybe, the story made some sense. But she wasn't sure she believed it. She looked at her sister's fourth finger. The disputed engagement ring still flashed there. "Why are you still wearing it?"
Julia looked down at the stone and smiled softly. "Because Roman gave it to me. He swears that he's going to get me a real one, but you know what? I don't care. This is the ring he put on my finger when he proposed. And that's good enough for me."
When Julia left, Sydney flipped open her laptop and made an airline reservation for the next day. Her little Roman Holiday had come to an end. It was back to Princeton and her condo and her own business, which wouldn't stand any more neglect.
She'd wing through South River and visit Ma when she knew Marv was out, and she'd bring Humphrey home with her. Speaking of the poor dog, she should round up some rawhide scraps for him before she left Texas. She supposed that she could get up the energy to do that: hit Main Street later and go to Dogologie, the chic little Fredericksburg shop catering to canines.
Syd checked e-mail quickly before logging off the Internet. Predictably, there was a reply from Vivien.
Subject: FAKE ring??? Date: XXXXXXX From: vshelton To: numbersgeek
What do you mean, the ring he gave her is fake?! HOW COULD HE??? Gotta fly, due in court, xox-oxo, Viv
*This electronic message transmission contains information from the law firm of Klein, Schmidt and Belker that may be confidential or privileged. The information is intended solely for the recipient and use by any other party is not authorized. If you are not the intended recipient, be aware that any copying, disclosure, distribution or use of the contents of this transmission is prohibited. If you have received this electronic transmission in error, please notify us immediately. Thank you.
Sydney wearily composed a response.
Subject: Re: FAKE ring??? Date: XXXXXXX
From: numbersgeek
To: vshelton@kleinschmidtbelker
Viv, supposedly it's not his fault. The grandmother sold it way back when and he didn't know. (Do you believe this? Not sure, myself.) But it doesn't matter! Our Julia has got it bad: she's STILL WEARING the ring, and says she doesn't care that it's fake. Why? Because HE gave it to her. I give up I'm going home. Can you at least get her to sign a prenup? I'm serious!!!!!!!
Syd
She logged off and closed her laptop. It was about time she pulled herself together and left room 239. She'd holed up to lick her wounds and have a good sobfest, but the tears had never come. She'd entered a weird, robotic state where she couldn't experience any emotion. She knew she hurt. She knew she felt betrayed. She knew she hated the man whose name was a four-letter, unmentionable word.
But she'd turned off the tap to her feelings, other than briefly confronting Marv. Where Alwhere Jackass was concerned, she was numb. She'd let him inside her once. He didn't get to return, not even mentally.
She decided that as long as she was here for another day, she would go and climb Enchanted Rock, a massive outcropping of stone in a public park close by. Then she'd stop by the dog place on the way back.
Syd pulled her mess of hair into a ponytail and figured she should add p
ants to her lovely ensemble before leaving the room. A T-shirt and underwear did fine for number 239, but she didn't need her own tail hanging out in Dogologie.
She shoved her feet into her hiking boots, laced them up and jammed shades onto her nose. Then she grabbed her bag and left.
Blue skies and a rising sun greeted her outside, and if the air wasn't exactly cool, at least it didn't scald her skin. Sydney drove on Orange Street north to Travis, and then from Travis to North Milam and -965. Enchanted Rock was about eighteen miles northwest of Fredericksburg.
She'd gone about three of those miles and had steeled herself to pass the turnoff to Jackass's parents' house, when she saw a lone figure traipsing along the road. The figure looked female, and was clad in a blue nightgown and matching robe with terry-cloth slippers.
Something about her gait and the way she held her head struck a familiar chord in Sydney, and as she got closer she saw the familiar shade of salon-rinsed blond hair.
Sydney's heart dropped into her boots. Mrs. Kim-ball was nowhere near her home. She had shuffled two and a half miles in those terry-cloth slippers.
Syd turned the wheel of the rental car and pulled over onto the shoulder of the road, pasting a bright smile onto her face. She got out and waved to Emily, whose expression transformed from puzzled and lost to pleased. "Nell!" she exclaimed. "How are you?"
Her poor toes were blackened and grimy, the pink polish on them barely visible. The slippers, coated with dust and mud, had just barely protected her feet from the gravel and tarmac. One of them had almost disintegrated on her two-mile journey, the open terry-cloth toepiece flapping and secured by perhaps six threads.
The tears that had eluded Sydney for the last twenty-four hours sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them fiercely away so she wouldn't confuse Mrs. K. "I'm fine," she said. "Heading out to Enchanted Rock for a hike. Where are you off to?"
"Oh," said Alex's mother vaguely, "I just came out for the morning paper." The warm breeze lifted the hair at her forehead, and she looked like a lovely, late middle-aged child.
Sydney swallowed. "I don't see the paper anywhere. Maybe they're late with it today."
"You could be right. Or maybe I'm not looking in the correct place"
"Would you like me to help you find it?" Sydney asked. She needed to get her into the car somehow so she could take her homehome to her husband and home to her son, the last person on the planet Syd wanted to see.
But under the circumstances, that just didn't mat ter. Mrs. Kimball could have gotten picked up by a friendly trucker, and not been able to tell him where she lived. She could have gotten a ride with someone not so friendly, which didn't bear thinking about. Or she could have been killed if she'd wandered into the middle of the highway.
"That is so nice of you, Nell. I'd greatly appreciate it."
Sydney put her arm around Emily Kimball's shoulders and walked calmly with her to the compact. "My car's not very luxurious," she said, "but it'll get us where we're going."
She helped her into the passenger seat, got her belt fastened and then slid in herself on the other side. "Let's head north," she suggested.
"Okay, dear." Mrs. K folded her hands in her lap and smiled trustingly at her.
Syd turned the key in the ignition and headed for the familiar square stone posts. Had she really been here just yesterday, poking Alex in the chest and defying the law?
She turned between the pillars, disturbing a dove perched on the right one. It fluttered into the air, then settled back into position as the car moved on.
Alex almost ran into them. He was squealing down the drive in the Mercedes, his father strapped in next to him.
Sydney braked hard, flinging her arm across Mrs. Kimballa reflex to protect her from harm.
Alex braked viciously, too, when he saw them. He wrenched the wheel of the car hard to the right so that when both vehicles slid in the gravel, only the left headlight of the Mercedes grazed the compact's front bumper.
Accident avoided, they stared at each other for a long moment through their respective windshields. Alex saw his mother. He slumped, boneless, over the steering wheel. Mr. Kimball got out of the passenger side, visibly shaken, and approached his wife.
"Lord have mercy, Jonathan!" she said, opening the door. "What on earth do you two think you're doing?"
He bent down, took her in his arms, and looked an anguished thank-you at Sydney. "I don't know," he said heavily. "Emily, I just don't know."
* * *
Chapter Twenty-three
"We didn't even know she was gone," Alex said to Sydney. He looked at his watch. "Good Christ, it's only seven fifteen a.m.!" He scrubbed a hand over his shadowed jaw. "Dad woke up just now and there she wasn't. He went to the kitchen, thinking she'd be there, making coffee. He looked everywhere. He panicked and woke me."
Sydney avoided looking at him. She said not one word of I-told-you-so, not one word of you-need-to-get-help. She seemed a cardboard cutout version of herself, pale and calm. The virago of yesterday had vanished. "I found her about two and a half miles down the road."
"Miles?"
"Yes. She said" Her voice hitched, but her face remained expressionless. "She said she'd just stepped out to get the morning paper."
Alex closed his eyes. "She could have been"
"Yeah."
He opened his eyes and looked at her: scraped-back hair, no makeup, baggy shorts and hiking boots. She wasn't herself. Even her freckles looked faded, tired and disillusioned.
I did this to her. Without even meaning to . He hated himself for it. "Sydney"
What? What in the hell did he think he could say to her now, when in her eyes, he'd betrayed her in the worst way possible? She'd called it a mercy date, and he'd convinced her otherwise. She'd trusted him enough to sleep with him. And now she thought he'd manipulated herdone it all as a favor to Roman.
To her, it was particularly cruel, because she'd allowed herself to internalize his compliments. She had begun to absorb them. He'd watched her stand up taller, swing her hips, flash a wider smile full of confidence. He'd loved giving her that knowledge: that she was a sexy, desirable woman. That he'd wanted her. He still didbut she'd never, ever believe it again.
So he said what he could. "Sydney, I can't thank you enough for what you did today. For what you did yesterday. And the time we met at the salon."
She shrugged, not absorbing the words. "What is it you say around here? De nada ?"
"It's not nothing. I know I'm the last person in the universe you wanted to see, but you brought Mama home anyway. And" He took a deep breath.
"And you're right, Sydney. If nothing else, this incident has shown me that we're going to have to get some help."
She turned to get back into the compact. "I'm just glad she's okay. That I found her before anything bad could happen."
She tugged open the door, but he strode to her and pushed it closed again. She expelled a breath but didn't look at him. "You'll need to check her feet. They may be pretty bruised on the bottom."
"Yeah. I'll sit her on a bucket and hose them off."
She flinched almost imperceptibly.
"Jersey"
" Don't . Don't call me that. I can handle anything but that."
"I'm so sorry. And I swear to you that our date was a real date. And I swear that you are one gorgeous woman."
"Alex. Get over it. I have. Tomorrow I'm on a plane and out of here. You won't have to feel guilty any longer. And you were actually right about one thing: If I hadn't interfered, nobody would have asked you to distract me. So I can take some responsibility for what happened, too."
"No. That was a low blow on my part. I'm sorry for saying that."
She tossed her keys in the air and caught them again. She moved his hand off the car doorframe. Her touch was beyond impersonal. "A low blow that happened to hit home. Okay, I'm gone. Nice knowing you. I guess we'll have to see each other at the wedding."
Sydney got into the car while he stood the
re, the steel box back within his ribs. She started the ignition, backed and turned. Then she bumped away, down the gravel road.
He wanted to run after her. He wanted to tuck the errant, flapping label of her T-shirt inside the collar. He wanted to pull the elastic band from her hair and smooth down the escaped lock that formed a fuzzy loop at the back of her head. He wanted to kiss away her competence and see her trusting smile again, the joy she'd taken in feeling sexually attractive to him.
And he wouldn't, couldn't do it.
He had the genes of the woman who'd just walked two and a half miles in search of the morning paper; the woman who'd tried to expose her violet bra on Main Street; the woman who'd given birth to him and raised him to be strong and fearless in the face of anythinganything but a slow spiral into madness and dependency and finally, a vegetative state.
The horror he felt at watching the process rivaled and surpassed anything that Stephen King or Hollywood could possibly dream up. The terror that it might happen also to him was selfish, but visceral and primal.
He could shrug off the fear for an evening of dancing, a day of running numbers, even a week or two of normalcy. But it crowded out most urges to intimacy or emotional honesty.
And the fear turned into downright cowardice when he contemplated a relationship with a woman, much less a relationship that might lead to something lasting, like marriage.
Alex watched the dust settle as Sydney's little rental car buzzed away. "Goodbye, Jersey," he murmured.
Desolation beat down on him like the Texas sun.
"Get up," said an implacable voice. It echoed in Alex's head, getting louder and more dramatic like the soundtrack to a bad B movie.
"Whah?" His tongue had obviously been stung by a swarm of insects, because it had swollen to eight times its normal size and soaked up any saliva in his mouth.
"Drop your cock, pull up your socks, and let's go." Roman. It was Roman who was hassling him. It must also have been Roman who put the heavy artillery in his head and ordered whoever manned it to fire repeatedly, mercilessly.
First Date - [Bridesmaid's Chronicles 01] Page 19