by Mia Sheridan
I stilled, the question making me feel exposed, sort of angry, uneasy. I wasn’t sure. “That was completely different.”
Isabelle’s eyes seemed to soften further. “Yes, but at first, you must have—”
“No.” I turned. “It didn’t bring up any memories. I was worried, that’s all.” I turned my head when I got to the door. “Do you want something to eat? I can have May bring you something along with the tea.”
“No. I’ll eat when I get up.”
I nodded, opening the door, and glancing back. Her expression was full of concern—for me I supposed—and I didn’t want that. She was the one who’d been hurt. This wasn’t about me. “I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.”
“Okay,” she said as I closed the door behind me. For a moment I stood in the empty hallway, just breathing, so many emotions coursing through my body, I didn’t know how to separate them all, much less identify them.
I walked to the office on wooden legs, shutting the door behind me and sinking onto the couch.
I heard my father enter the house and stomp to the kitchen, heard his voice as it rose and fell, and May’s tone as she obviously attempted to soothe him. It seemed to work—his voice quieted, and then both their footsteps moved toward my room.
I thought about getting up and joining them, but there was still a vague prickling under my skin and my heart felt sluggish as if it was exhausted from the mini heart attack I’d had when Mick had told me Isabelle was hurt.
The picture came to me then, unbidden, the way the air had been steamy, the water such a bright red. For a moment her eyes had opened, sluggish, unseeing, and I’d frozen in horror. I’d frozen. Just a second, maybe two, before my father had burst into the room, but maybe those seconds could have saved her . . . maybe.
Seconds.
Moments.
Such small measurements of time. But powerful enough to change everything. Vast enough to unravel an entire life.
Christ.
I propelled myself off the couch with a small choking sound, my hands shaking as I poured a drink from the bar cart on the other side of the room. It was only Isabelle who worked in here on a regular basis, and I was surprised she hadn’t removed the liquor from this room, but I was grateful she hadn’t.
I downed one shot then another, the shaking in my hands finally lessening, my breathing growing more even. That memory, God, I hadn’t thought of that in years, hadn’t relived it like that since I’d been a teenager.
Did it . . . did it bring up memories of losing your mother?
She was perceptive, my Belle, because she knew the pain of loss, perhaps even more so than I. I’d lost a parent, yes, but she’d lost a child. Her whole world. How did she even walk around through life anymore? How had she survived? Part of me wanted to talk to her about it, but the other part flinched away from the mere idea, because I didn’t even know what I was feeling inside, had locked the experience away and thrown out the key. And all I wanted was to leave it there.
I felt disturbed, out of sorts, antsy. I’m crazy about you, Isabelle. Crazy, yes. The way I felt for her made me partially insane. This feeling— No. I threw back one more shot, my thoughts blurring. Better. Now I could breathe. And tomorrow I’d be back to myself.
I opened the email Derek had sent that required attention, took care of it, then moved on to the next task. Work. There was always work. That kept me focused. Soon I’d acquire the control I’d held on to for so many years. Control. That’s what I did best.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Isabelle
I was worried about Brant. He had taken the mishap in the yard harder than I had. Much harder. I could still see the raw torment on his face as he’d rushed to where I lay on the ground, his eyes wild, the way his hands had trembled and run over every part of me he could reach as if convincing himself I was really okay. Alive.
And the way he’d reacted when I’d asked about his mother had told me my intuition had been accurate. My accident had brought up memories of losing her. I wanted to ask him more about it, about what happened that had driven him from this house thirteen years before, but he shut down every time I did. He was like that wild stallion in the yard. And I’d pushed too hard with that one and ended up lying in the dirt, half conscious. I didn’t want to push Brant. I could only hope he’d confide in me when he was ready and that that would be sometime soon.
He’d seemed mostly back to normal the past week, though he came in the room smelling like alcohol the day it happened, and he’d made love to me with a desperate fervency that night then looked shaken and pulled me close, caressing me as if he’d realized he’d been less than careful with me and regretted it.
Still, even if Brant was behaving a little differently with me, we’d had several enjoyable dinners with his father. We’d sat around the big farmhouse table in the dining room, Brant and Harry conversing casually. Perhaps they hadn’t completely mended fences, but they’d still come a long way in a short time. Maybe they weren’t exactly friends, but they were no longer strangers.
I placed a few pairs of jeans into my suitcase and zipped it closed, setting it near the door. I was packed and ready to leave for New York the next morning. I’d been apprehensive about going, but now I was glad. It was what Brant needed—to get away from here for a little while and reclaim his equilibrium. He’d introduce me to the places he loved, show me the businesses that brought him so much pride, and I’d learn a little more about Brant Talbot the businessman. I hoped we’d become even closer, that he’d open up to me more, and we’d return here stronger than ever.
A warm flush of hope blossomed under my skin and I smiled as I left the room, heading toward the office. I’d do Graystone Hill business remotely, so I needed to get some paperwork in order, email myself some files, etcetera.
But before that, I would make another call to Aaron. I’d called him a few times over the past week, but he hadn’t returned my calls. I’d decided it was best not to mention contacting him to Paige—it would only further upset her to know Aaron and Ethan might have been involved in something shady. But I needed to know what Aaron knew to figure out the best way to handle this stockpile of cash I now possessed.
I’d started to ask Hank his advice about the money at the party May had thrown, but we’d been interrupted by an emergency call-out, and I’d decided it was for the best. I wanted to talk to Aaron first.
I stood in front of the window as his phone rang, expecting his voicemail to pick up again and planning the message I’d leave—again. And so I was surprised when I heard a clipped, “Hello,” on the other end of the line.
“Aaron? It’s Isabelle.”
There was a pause and some rustling and then Aaron sighed. “Hi, Is, what’s up?”
“I left a couple of messages for you this week.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry. I was going to call you back, I just . . . shit, why were you calling?”
I frowned. He sounded tired . . . defeated, and despite myself a trickle of sympathy moved through me. I stood straight. No, I would not feel empathy for a man who had been physically abusive to my friend. He should feel tired. He should feel defeated. He’d caused his own misery, and even worse, the misery of someone he claimed to love. I wasn’t going to comment on the fact that I knew what had happened between Paige and him. What was I going to do? Berate him over the phone? What good would that do? Paige had gathered the strength to leave, and that was the most important thing. It would be better if I got the information I needed from him and left it at that. “Aaron, I came across some of Ethan’s belongings that I hadn’t been aware of until now and . . . well, there was a bit of cash in it.”
There was silence on the phone for a moment. “How much cash?”
“Quite a bit,” I hedged. “A lot more than we had in our savings account when he died. It’s just . . . odd that he hid it from me, and I wondered if you knew anything about it because my next step is to go to the police.”
“No, Is, please don’t
do that. Listen, can we meet?”
“I can’t, Aaron, I’m leaving for New York in the morning and—”
“I can come out there. I only need a few minutes.”
I hesitated, feeling uncomfortable about meeting with Aaron face to face, but also needing answers. There were other people in the house, though. And Brant was here. I knew very well he’d want to be with me when I met with Aaron anyway. “Okay, fine. How soon can you be here? I have a lot to wrap up today.”
“I can be there in forty-five minutes.”
“Okay, see you then.”
I hung up with Aaron and sat tapping my pencil on the desk for a minute. Why did he feel the need to meet with me in person? It sounded like he definitely had some information, but why not just give it to me over the phone? I felt uneasy, mistrustful of Aaron, but perhaps that was because of what I knew about him and Paige. Before that, I’d always considered Aaron a good, upstanding man. I supposed people could be adept at hiding their true selves—especially from those who weren’t around them all the time.
I forced myself to focus on the Graystone Hill work I needed to do before we left and before I knew it, forty-five minutes had passed and the front doorbell was ringing. “Damn,” I muttered, picking up the phone and dialing Brant’s cell quickly. I tapped my knee as it rang, the knock at the front door sounding again. I knew Brant was somewhere on the property but I didn’t know where. His phone was either in his pocket or he’d stepped away from it. I left a short message asking him to come to the house and then hung up, hurrying to the door.
When I opened it, Aaron was there and he gave me what looked like a tired smile. “Hi, Isabelle.”
“Aaron.” I opened the door wider, feeling sort of awkward. He looked the same as always, the same guy who had grilled me hamburgers on his backyard grill, the same guy who had shown up with Paige at the hospital that awful, awful day. His eyes had been wide and unfocused, startled with grief. Paige was the one who’d had the presence of mind to collect the things I’d needed from my house, to fill out my insurance forms, to do the things I couldn’t do . . . Funny, the snapshots you carry with you out of the depths of hell. “Follow me to the living room? Would you like a glass of water or anything?”
“No, thank you.”
I led him down the hall to the living room and he took a seat in the armchair across from the couch. I took a seat on the couch, crossing my legs. He had asked to meet in person so I looked to him to begin, waiting as he looked off out the window for a second and then at me. “I don’t even know how to say this . . .” He sighed, pressing his lips together as he looked at me with what appeared to be genuine sympathy.
“Where did the money come from, Aaron?”
“From our investors—our clients.”
I blinked at him. “Ethan was stealing money from your clients?”
He sat back in the chair, his shoulders curling slightly. “I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t . . .” He released a harsh exhale. “God. I wanted to keep this from you, Is.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “I thought . . . I thought Ethan had been putting profit back into the business. When did you find out what he was doing?”
“Two and a half years ago. Six months after Ethan . . . died. I realized we were short money when a couple of clients were looking to cash out. I covered it and then I kept covering it, but eventually, I couldn’t anymore. Ethan had been running a Ponzi scheme. Do you know what that is?”
“I know the gist.”
“It collapsed, as he must have known it would. Only he was gone, and I was the one left holding the bag. The empty bag.” He let out a small laugh devoid of humor.
“You didn’t know anything about it?”
He shook his head and the look in his eyes was so bleak; if he was a liar, he was a damn good one. “I swear, Is. I had no idea.”
“Is this . . . are you responsible for the money, Aaron?”
“Yes, because it’s my business. Those are my customers. I made some risky investments that thank God paid off. And then I drained every cent out of our bank accounts, mortgaged the house, did what I had to do to pay those people back. Almost two million dollars.”
I stilled, but didn’t say anything about the discrepancy. I had a lot more money than that in the garage. My God, Ethan, what were you doing?
“Are you here for the money?” I’d gladly give it. I didn’t want anything to do with stolen funds.
But Aaron shook his head. “No. I paid those people back with my own money and they agreed not to go to the authorities.”
“But you should be reimbursed—”
“I don’t want it, Is. As far as I’m concerned, that money is yours. What Ethan was doing . . .” He shook his head, what looked like true sorrow in his eyes. “It would have left you and Elise destitute.”
I lowered my gaze to my hands, staring unseeing for a moment. If only. If only Elise and I had been left destitute, but together. God, if only that had been the worst of it. I would sell my soul to live that “hardship.” Grief wrenched my heart, but hot, prickly anger vibrated under my skin. “Do you think he was going to leave us for another woman?” I asked woodenly.
Aaron paused, but sadly didn’t look surprised at what I was asking. He hadn’t trusted his friend. “I don’t know. All I know is I’m sorry. I never wanted you to deal with any of this.”
My gaze flew to his. “You weren’t going to tell me?”
“Why would I? Are you glad you know?”
“I . . .” I shook my head. “I’m not sure.” My heart squeezed tightly in my chest. “Do you think it had anything to do with what . . . what happened?” Oh, God. What if he said yes? Perhaps Aaron was right. Maybe I didn’t want to know, especially if it meant learning that Ethan was partly responsible for that night. My horror, my everlasting sorrow.
He stared at me for a moment then looked away, his expression disturbed but thoughtful. Finally he shook his head. “No one knew at that point. No one had any reason to harm Ethan.”
I nodded. And like I’d told Brant, the man who’d broken into our home had never said a word about any money. I considered Aaron for another moment—his haggard expression, his rumpled clothes. “Is this why . . . I mean the stress of what you’ve been going through . . . is it why you and Paige have split?”
He pulled in a deep breath. “I suppose. She’s so angry.” A shadow passed over his face, dark and morose. Angry? Well, yes. But he’d left out hurt, devastated. His eyes met mine. “I’m so sorry, Is. After everything you’ve lost, this is the last thing I wanted you to have to grapple with. I never wanted to taint your memories of Ethan when it’s all you have. I tried to avoid it, I really did.”
He looked so lost sitting there, so distraught and despite what I knew, I couldn’t help the softening of my heart. He’d made such terrible mistakes. But I knew there was good in him too. I’d seen him with my daughter, watched him as he played tea party with her as she’d giggled and handed him a plastic tea cup . . . For a moment it hurt to breathe and I closed my eyes as the pain expanded, then grew less and less . . . allowing my lungs to take in air once more. “The truth is, Aaron, Ethan and I didn’t have a good marriage.”
He frowned slightly. “I didn’t know.”
“No one did.”
He regarded me for a moment. “I guess it’s hard to know what’s going on inside a marriage unless you’re in it.” He looked like he was speaking of himself as much as me, but I supposed it was true of us both.
“Yes. I only told you that to let you know I had no illusions about Ethan. I . . . I’d fallen out of love with him long before he died. I wish that weren’t true, but it is, and it helps me to acknowledge the truth, or everything feels like a lie, you know?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I do know. I do.” Something passed between us, an understanding, camaraderie, though it still made me uncomfortable, as if I were betraying my friend somehow.
I stood. “Thank you for coming here. And if you
change your mind about the money, let me know. I don’t think I want it either.”
“I won’t. And I trust you to give it to a good cause if you decide you don’t want it.”
The door opened and closed down the hall and then I heard my name being called. Brant. Aaron’s eyes shot in the direction of Brant’s footsteps and he stood abruptly.
“In here,” I called.
Aaron and I met Brant in the large, open living room doorway and Brant’s expression took on a look of surprise when he saw Aaron.
“Brant, this is Aaron, Paige’s husband. Aaron, this is Brant.”
They shook. “Nice to meet you, Brant. I was just leaving.”
Brant gave him a suspicious look but nodded. “Nice to meet you too. I’ll walk you to the door.”
“Be well, Aaron,” I called after him as he and Brant turned away. And I meant it.
**********
We arrived in New York just after noon the next day. Brant bustled me through the airport, through baggage claim, and out to the sidewalk where a man held a sign with Brant’s name on it. I was overwhelmed but excited, and my head turned left and right as I watched the sights go by out the window of the luxury car.
Brant’s building was a brick and glass high-rise with a doorman who greeted us when we arrived, ushering us into the elevator that rose to the very top floor. I whistled when we stepped out of the elevator into the grand marble vestibule that featured only one door. “Yours, I presume, Mr. Talbot?” I asked, tilting my head and giving him a teasing smile.
He winked. “Your assumption is correct, Ms. Farris.” He pressed a code into a console beside the double door and it clicked open.
“I didn’t realize I was visiting royalty,” I said.
“Didn’t you?”