If You Must Know

by Beck, Jamie

  “There’s basically no question now that Lyle’s stolen Mom’s money. Let me call Rodri.”

  Being a felon’s daughter would cast a long shadow over Willa. That reality turned my stomach. “Stan said to wait. The loan document didn’t specify how Lyle had to spend the money, and he only has circumstantial evidence linking Lyle with this company and boat. Besides, Rodri is local. We need to get the feds interested if we want to arrest him in another country.”

  “So you will involve the authorities once you get all the evidence?” Erin looked at Mom and me.

  “The legalities might drag out for years . . . Mom might not recover much, if anything.” There had to be a solution that made her whole. I grabbed my head, needing time to think.

  “I can’t believe you’d risk breaking the law.” Erin bugged her eyes.

  I scowled at her hypocrisy. “You did.”

  “First of all, Max’s crime was peanuts compared with Lyle’s, so the stakes were way lower. Second, I’ve got nothing to lose, Amanda. But you’re going to be a mother. You shouldn’t even consider something reckless.”

  “I didn’t say I would! I’m simply looking at options,” I yelled. “You might be comfortable making snap decisions, but I like to think them through, so give me more than two seconds to process what Stan told me.”

  “Well, hooray for finally having a temper.” Erin flung her arms outward. “Let the fury come and don’t let Lyle off easy.”

  “You think I haven’t been furious since this began? Willa won’t have anything like the life I wanted for her, but maybe the least I can do for her is use Lyle’s crime against him to secure full custody.” My voice had hit birdlike screech levels, but it couldn’t be helped. “If that means he gets to stay out of jail, maybe it’s for the best. And don’t look at me like I’m weak or crazy. Stan says plenty of women pursue solutions that don’t involve cops. I’ve got to think about Willa’s future, first and foremost.”

  Erin sighed, conflict screwing up her face. “What if you fail, Amanda, or you get arrested? Is that best for Willa?”

  She had me there, but I was too busy trying to punch my way out of this coffin Lyle had buried me in to concede any ground.

  Mom had remained silent throughout our argument, but one look at her reminded me that I wasn’t the only one with everything at stake. “What are you thinking, Mom?”

  Mom’s gaze darted from my sister to me. “I don’t know. I don’t know . . .”

  I covered my face like one of my students who wished to disappear.

  Erin chimed in. “At least start divorce proceedings.”

  “Stop! Please stop.” My palms slapped the table. “Just because something is right or true doesn’t make it simple. I’m so overwhelmed I don’t even know where to begin, let alone know what to do with this devastating pain.” I pounded on my chest. “You probably can’t imagine feeling lost and hopeless and stupid and worthless, but there it is. He’s left me with next to nothing. I can’t even pay the mortgage. I could lose this house—and I can’t sell it without his consent since we’re both on the deed. I’m basically now a broke single mom. God help me if that woman becomes my daughter’s stepmom. And where will I live? Can I get my old job back and afford to pay for help raising my daughter? I’ve got all this running through my mind every second, so I don’t need you pushing me to blow up every last semblance of the life I’m still mourning on your timetable, Erin.”

  She and my mother exchanged worried looks, unaccustomed to my temper. At least it gave me a second to catch my breath.

  “You can’t still love him, can you?” Erin asked in the softest voice I’d ever heard her use.

  “Right now I’ve never hated anyone more. But two weeks ago I thought my marriage was near perfect. Several days ago, it still had a small chance.” I closed my eyes. “My head knows it’s over, but my heart still aches for the life and love I thought I had.”

  Mom tapped her glass with her fork. “Girls, we’ve got to pull together.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I know you’re worried, too.” I glanced at Erin, who gazed into space, clearly biting her tongue. “Once we’ve got the evidence, if you want to go to the police, we will.”

  My mom raised her chin—defiantly so. “I’m not interested in becoming the laughingstock of town if we can find a way to handle this ourselves instead.”

  “Mom!” Erin slapped her forehead.

  “Stop, Erin.” Mom held up a palm. “Trust me. Life here will be unbearable if all of this comes out. It’ll be worse than what happened with my dad, because I worked in these schools for three decades. Everyone knows me. There’ll be no hiding from everyone’s pity, scorn, or schadenfreude. For Pete’s sake, I’d have to move to escape the shame. And Dodo would insert herself in my affairs like she did with George. What good does it do me if Lyle sits in jail but I never get my money back? He still wins. Even if a bargain with Lyle is illegal, he can’t turn us in for extortion without exposing his own crimes.” She nodded to herself. “He’s pragmatic. He’ll cooperate if we catch him, and Amanda can keep custody without dishonor bringing us all down—”

  “I can’t believe how far you’ll go to avoid a little gossip,” Erin interrupted.

  “It’s not ‘a little gossip.’ It’s forever, thanks to Google. And it isn’t only me that would suffer. My granddaughter will suffer forever, too, anytime anyone searched her name or her dad’s.” Mom sighed. “Your sister is smart. She’ll find another way.”

  I closed my eyes to avoid seeing my mother’s self-recriminations and my sister’s scorn. But our predicament proved I wasn’t very smart at all.

  Erin clucked. “Let’s not make decisions based on some fantasy that Willa will get through life without knowing the truth. That won’t happen unless you plan to lie to her forever. That’s not the best role-modeling, is it?” She stared me down, challenging me with the very advice I used to give her during her less-than-honest teen years. She’d rarely listened to me, like the time she cheated on an earth science test with an answer key she’d gotten from Briggs McCrady despite my pleas and then got caught. There was probably a lesson in that for me, but the temptation to control my own destiny for a change was too strong.

  “I don’t know what I’ll tell her or when, but that’s my choice, not yours.” Granted, I didn’t have many options, and all of them were terrible. I grabbed my stomach, which had cramped. “I can’t imagine taking Willa to visit Lyle in jail.”

  “Why would you let that liar near her?” Erin shook her head.

  “I might not have a choice!” I barked. Did a felony conviction terminate parental rights?

  “Erin, don’t stress your sister in her condition.” Mom jumped out of her seat and rubbed my back. “Relax and drink some water. Take a breath, honey.”

  Erin stood with her arms crossed, her face pinched in frustration.

  I gulped water from the glass my mom had handed me, then met my sister’s gaze. “It’s black-and-white to you because you don’t have to think about anyone but yourself. I’m looking for a solution that doesn’t destroy more lives. That’s not so simple.”

  Erin’s face got red, and I saw a flicker of hurt in her eyes. But she didn’t lash back in anger. “You’re wrong, sis. The answers are simple. You’re making them complicated. But I’ll stop pushing if you tell me one thing—what do you want? Don’t think about the baby or Mom or anyone else. For once, ignore all that and tell me what you want.”

  “I want my life back! I want my husband to look at me like I’m a beautiful sunrise again. I want my daughter to know a father’s love the way we did. I want to know I can keep this house and not have to get a full-time job and pay a nanny to raise my daughter. I want my marriage to be what I thought it was . . . ,” I cried.

  The disappointment in Erin’s eyes couldn’t be missed. “Oh, Amanda.”

  “Don’t pity me.”

  “It’s not pity.” She grabbed the back of the dining chair. “You’ve spent your whole life c
hasing perfection—with school, food, this house—but it’s time to wake up to reality. There is no perfect. There’re only messy truths. Willa will be better off with a mom who can face them than one who is trying to raise her in a Norman Rockwell cocoon.”

  “Stop talking, Erin. Please.” Mom speared her with the look that used to precede some kind of punishment. Her only leverage these days would be kicking Erin out, which I didn’t want to see happen.

  “I’ve lost my appetite.” Erin took her plate to the sink. Her gaze flickered from Mom to me. “Believe it or not, I’m not your enemy. I’m trying to help. You’re smarter than me, and maybe most people would look at our paths and judge yours better—this Lyle stuff excepted—but you could learn a thing or two about how to make the best of bad situations, and how to believe in yourself despite flaws and failings.”

  She squeezed my shoulder before looking at Mom. “See you at home. I’m going to experiment with soaps for Willa.”

  I wanted her to stay but wouldn’t ask. Maybe the idea of her making something pretty for my daughter appealed to me. Or maybe I was too proud to admit that I could learn from her.

  One thing was certain, though. Lyle shouldn’t get to make all the rules anymore. The only way to grasp what he was capable of—and to protect my daughter—would be to better understand how he’d become this man I didn’t know. To learn about his past meant talking with his dad, but taking that step meant opening a door I might not be able to close.

  For weeks I’d been doing everything I could think of to avoid this moment, but now I let the pain of the end of my marriage hit me fully, my body slowly folding in on itself as I cradled my belly, with my mother rubbing my back.

  With deep breaths, I told myself we would be fine. Willed myself to rebuild stronger and smarter for the future.

  Surely I’d survived the worst already.

  It could only get easier from here.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ERIN

  Last night I’d been in the kitchen, working on a cold-process soap recipe when my mother returned from Amanda’s. She’d taken one look at me in my goggles and gloves, shaken her head, and waved good night. Earlier that evening, I’d been glad for the distraction of making a sample batch of chamomile and oat soap for little Willa. Ironic when everything about our family situation made me feel dirty.

  I loved my niece’s name, though. Had I even told my sister that?

  The soap molds would set on my racks for another few days, awaiting the custom-made stamp I’d ordered online—a butterfly with the letter W—for embossing the hardened soaps. Someday I’d teach Willa to make soaps. We’d dye them bright colors and cast them in funky molds. Of course, we’d start with a melt-and-pour process so she couldn’t get hurt from the lye. Amanda would insist on that precaution—probably forever.

  I should call my sister to apologize for coming down on her so hard. She wasn’t completely wrong about my hypocrisy. I’ve never had to make decisions that affected an unborn life—unless you counted the baby-soap ingredients, which were hardly significant.

  For weeks after my dad’s passing, I’d struggled to choose which pants to wear, much less manage life-altering decisions. While Lyle’s departure made me want to celebrate, my sister was grieving a huge loss. Just as I had not appreciated Max’s attempts to expedite my mourning, my sister didn’t need me to tell her how to feel. More important, she deserved my faith that she’d eventually come around to do right, like she always did.

  And yet, as wrong as I might be about many things in life, I was right about one: she had to start believing in herself.

  Amanda worked today, so I’d wait to hash things out when we wouldn’t be rushed. This morning I’d make peace with my mom by preparing breakfast. My sister would’ve whipped up protein pancakes with quinoa and fresh mango or something, but I went with the sweet Dunkin’ Donuts salted-caramel coffee Mom loved and a stack of toaster waffles. Seemed like a lot considering that I usually made do with a cup of yogurt.

  Mom shuffled into the kitchen—her blue robe’s sash tied snugly beneath her breasts, her hair brushed away from her face—wearing an apprehensive expression that reflected my mood.

  “Have a seat.” I pulled out a kitchen chair, flashing a smile meant to put us both at ease.

  She sniffed the sweetened air. “What did you do?”

  “I thought we might enjoy a little breakfast before I start my first yoga class downstairs.” I set a cup of coffee in front of her, then buttered the waffles and smothered them in syrup.

  Her brows rose as she scooted her chair up to the table and immediately cut into the short stack. “This is nice.”

  If she remembered that she’d served us toaster waffles as a reward when we were young, she didn’t mention it.

  “I feel bad about last night.” A not-quite apology of the variety I usually gave her. It neither disappointed nor surprised me when she didn’t reciprocate. “At the risk of reopening a can of worms, you have to know I didn’t mean to hurt anyone’s feelings. In my heart of hearts, I know Amanda will be fine. She’s smart, and once she gets over her shock, she’ll land a full-time teaching job and we’ll help her raise Willa.”

  When my mother concentrated on cutting her waffles rather than reply, I continued, “But, Mom, I’m worried about you. Dad’s social security income and your pension cover your daily needs, but not emergencies or serious health issues. That insurance money was your safety net. Recovering it has to outweigh protecting your reputation. Sooner or later the truth about Lyle will leak. Delaying the inevitable only gives him more time to flee. If I actually believed you and Amanda could trap him yourselves, maybe I’d get on board. But Lyle isn’t as dumb as Max, so it won’t be as easy. Please reconsider. Involving the cops is the only way to get justice.”

  She closed her eyes on a sigh before lifting her chin to meet my gaze.

  “It doesn’t help when you point out the obvious, Erin. I’m plenty worried on my own, but I can’t go back and do things differently. I lent those funds for reasons that made sense to me at the time, and I’ll live with my mistake, even if it costs me all that money.” She pounded the table twice with her palm. “Justice that entails my humiliation doesn’t interest me, especially when it doesn’t guarantee I’ll be repaid. You don’t understand because you’ve never lived through interviews and a trial, the media circus . . . It’s extremely stressful, and stress is dangerous for pregnant women, you know. I couldn’t live with myself if escalating this situation sent your sister into premature labor. I would hope you couldn’t, either.”

  “Of course not.” Another pop of guilt singed my subconscious like lye. My silence in February had given Lyle ample time to plot his devious plan. A confession might underscore my sense of urgency to my mother, but I couldn’t make myself do it when the truth would only divide us at a time when we needed to pull together.

  “How many strangers will be in my basement today?” Her abrupt change of subject yanked me from my dilemma.

  “They aren’t strangers. In fact, you probably remember Lucy Cahill from high school.” I hadn’t been friends with Lucy, who was a few years older than me, but every kid had spent time at the school library. “In any case, only three have reserved space for my first official class.”

  Not too bad, considering the only advertising I’d done was posting flyers at Sugar Momma’s, the post office, Stewart’s Grocery Mart, and the laundromat. Fewer students meant individualized attention. And I felt good about giving beginners an affordable option.

  After washing down a bite of waffles with a swig of coffee, Mom asked, “What do you charge?”

  “Fifteen bucks.” Less than half my hourly wage at Give Me Strength, which could add up to a decent supplemental income.

  Mom nodded. “Forty-five dollars for an hour of stretching is pretty good.”

  Not half as much as Nancy Thompson made, but I kept that crack to myself. “Ideally, I’d like a class size of about five students four times per week. I
could add one or two evening classes if the interest is there . . .” Annualized, that could add around twenty grand to my income. If I could also grow Shakti Suds from making two grand per year to ten or fifteen, I could move out of here to someplace half-decent.

  “Those people won’t be coming upstairs, though, right?”

  “No. I hung a sign on the front door directing them around back, so you can run around in your underwear and curlers and no one will be the wiser.” I wiggled my brows.

  My mom almost smiled, but she fought it like always. I swear she spent her whole life refusing to joke around with me, as if her not laughing at my silliness might somehow make me more mature. Yet again my dad’s absence snuck up on me from behind. If he were here, we’d be snickering. I missed that deep chuckle, which had often ended with his arm around my shoulders and a kiss on the temple or a tweak of my nose. Oh, Daddy.

  I blinked back quick tears and took my mug to the sink, dumping the majority of the sickeningly sweet coffee down the drain. My mother continued to savor hers. Six months of this quiet tension might well end up feeling like twelve. It’d be nice if we could have some fun together while I kept her safe. An idea struck. With as much enthusiasm as I could muster, I asked, “Why don’t you come take my class? It’s important to remain limber as you age—for injury prevention. Plus it’s meditative. Reduces stress . . .”

  “I haven’t taken an exercise class in years. Are you trying to make a fool of me in front of a former student?” She frowned before ingesting another large bite of waffle.

  As if I’d ever set out to embarrass anyone. It got tiring to count to three and brush off these slights. In the past I’d done so because I’d had my dad, so I’d given up on pleasing my mom. Now that he was gone and we had huge problems to deal with, I wouldn’t waste energy on petty shit. “There’s no judgment in yoga—you do what you can. But if you’re uncomfortable in front of others, we can do private sessions at night. It’ll be fun. You know, Dad sometimes took my classes.”

  She set down her silverware, staring at me like all my hair had grown back. “He did not.”