The Inn at Laurel Creek: Zoe & Daniel's Story

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  She tapped her chin with a finger. "Too risky. I don't wanna do that. We need to follow him, find out where he's banging his assistant."

  I put down my phone. "Uh, he knows our cars."

  "Yeah, but if we're careful, he won't see them."

  "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

  "Well, other than using your mother, it's the only one I can think of."

  "Lemme think about it for a bit, okay? I don't want to rush into doing anything that could make things worse for you."

  She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. "I've got nothing but time."

  "Are you keeping track of money and stuff?"

  She nodded. "Yeah, for the most part. I'm writing down anything and everything. I researched divorce laws in Georgia. It's a no-fault state—which I think is a bunch of crap, but if I have proof, I think I'll have a better chance of getting what I want from him."

  "You're probably right."

  Mel rubbed her forehead and exhaled deeply. "I can't believe this is happening."

  I rubbed her arm. "Me neither. I'm so sorry."

  "Fran could get me what I need, you know?"

  "I know."

  "We gotta get your gift back, and not just for me, but for you, too. I know how much you miss your parents."

  She was right about that. "I know. I'm doing all I can, but so far it's not working."

  "Well, maybe Linda will have a solution."

  I didn't think she would, but I didn't say that to Mel. Right now she needed to stay as positive as possible. I drank the last of my coffee. "Do you want a refill?"

  "Nah. I need to run to the grocery store and get home. The kids will be up soon."

  I walked her to her car. "I'm here for you, you know."

  We hugged. "I know."

  I cried on my drive home. In the past few years, my life had been a rollercoaster ride full of loops and twists and stomach-shocking hills, and I couldn't catch my breath. I longed for the consistency of the mundane, of my old life, but deep down, I knew that life was gone forever.

  ***

  I pulled into our cul-de-sac and saw Jake mowing the lawn, and my kids, Josh and Emily, arguing next to the driveway. I debated turning around and driving away but Jake waved, and I blew that thought. I wouldn't have gotten far anyway because as much as my family drove me insane, they were mine and I loved them—most of the time, anyway.

  I parked in the garage, got out of the car, and stepped between my kids. "Can't you at least pretend to get along?" I yelled over the sound of the mower.

  Emily's face was red. "Josh is gettin' all up in my business and, like, it's pissing me off." Her hands moved to the flow of her frustration.

  I gave my seventeen-year-old, smart-mouthed daughter the stink eye. "Language, Emily."

  She cowered, her shoulders sinking. "Well, he is."

  "What exactly does that mean, getting all up in your business?" I asked.

  "He was reading my Facebook posts."

  Josh pushed his chest out and held his chin up. "Was not."

  Emily narrowed her eyes at her brother. "Was too."

  "Was not."

  I glowered at my husband mowing the lawn in blissful oblivion. I hated lawn work but would have traded that for dealing with my kids in a heartbeat. "You have two thousand Facebook friends, Emily, and you don't even know two hundred people."

  "So."

  "So you don't care if strangers see your posts, but you throw a hissy fit if your brother does?"

  Josh smirked and puffed his chest out further.

  "Yeah," she said, completely unaware of how ridiculous that sounded.

  "Then don't leave your Facebook open on the iPad, stupid," Josh said, mimicking his sister's whine.

  It was Josh's turn to get the stink eye.

  "Shut up, loser," Emily said.

  I threw my hands in the air. "All right. Guess what time it is." Every time my kids argued, I made them hug. It reminded them of their familial connection and made them feel silly—a win-win in my opinion. "It's hug time! Oh yeah!" I hummed, bouncing from foot to foot.

  Both kids wrinkled their noses and flinched. "No, Mom. Please," they said in unison. At least they'd agreed on something.

  "Too late." I wiggled my eyebrows and laughed. "Y’all forced me to do it, now go ahead. I'm waiting." I gently pushed on both of their backs, urging them to come together. They groaned but acquiesced. Emily stuck her finger in her mouth and gagged.

  I held back a giggle and said, "That doesn't count. Do it again."

  Josh balked. "Mama, come on. I did it."

  "Emily gagged. It doesn't count."

  "Why'd you have to do that?" He asked her, and then just barely wrapped his arms around her in another hug.

  They both made gagging faces. "Wow, so dramatic." I made a gagging face for them.

  "Mom," Emily said, her voice strained. "You need to teach him to, like, keep his hands off of stuff that doesn't belong to him."

  "It's the family iPad," he said.

  Josh had a point, but more importantly, Emily was guilty of her own complaint. She touched my stuff on a daily basis, and it made me so mad I'd practically grown horns. "Pot calling the kettle black there, Em."

  She rolled her eyes—my biggest Emily pet peeve. "I don't touch other people’s stuff, Mom."

  I picked my jaw up off the ground. If I couldn't find something, I just had to look in her bedroom. I could usually find it buried under piles of clothes. "Oh no, you did not just say that."

  She eye-rolled me again, and the vein in my forehead throbbed. I pressed on it just in case it tried to pop out.

  "That's different, Mom. Like, just make him stop, please." She bounced on the tips of her toes.

  I clenched my jaw. Her ability to separate herself from her wrong-doing was fascinating. "There is a solution to the problem, you know."

  She stuck her tongue out at her brother. "See, I told you Mom would, like, side with me."

  He curled his upper lip at her.

  "Emily," I said. "Mothers don't take sides. We review the situation and make a fair and educated decision based on the evidence presented."

  "So you're gonna, like, tell him to stop sticking his nose in my business, right?"

  "Nope. I'm gonna tell you to delete your Facebook account, Em. Problem solved."

  Josh double fist-pumped the air. "Yes!"

  Emily threw her hands up and stomped into the house saying, "He's totally your favorite."

  I turned to Josh and nodded. "That went well."

  Josh laughed. "Yup."

  ***

  Emily stayed in her room until she had to leave for work a few hours later. After dinner, Jake and Josh bonded over video games, so I had some much-needed alone time. Linda had given me a month-long homework assignment—to practice meditating. I'd tried several times, but my brain couldn't chill out. Instead of repeating calm, relaxing chants, I'd sing entire versions of 1980s pop rock songs, something at which I excelled. Since Linda and I had an appointment in a few days, I wanted to give the meditation one last shot.

  It was a beautiful night. The sky was clear, and stars shone like a Lite Brite board filled with only white pegs, so I sat in a chair on our deck, closed my eyes and tried to relax. Male crickets chirped their mating songs as male frogs croaked for the same reason. I pictured crickets and frogs having sex. A bird sang, and I sang back, though less in tune than my feathered partner. I thought about birds having sex, but only until I realized they didn't actually perform the act, at which point I just felt stupid.

  The breeze picked up, ruffling the leaves on the trees. It almost sounded like a whispered, Ah Madone—my mother's favorite expression. I stilled and listened closely. "Ma? Are you here?" A frog croaked. "Got a frog in your throat?" I laughed at my joke. "Come on, Ma, that was funny."

  I heard nothing but silence. I sat again and contemplated another meditation attempt but knew it was hopeless. I was tired, so I gave up and went to bed.
<
br />   Face washed, hair brushed, and Elmo pajamas on—I knew how to dress sexy for bed—I did another Internet search on catching cheaters. Every site said the same thing. Get phone records, credit card receipts, bank statements, and the like. I did a search for how to follow someone in a car and not get caught and came across a private investigator site full of tips and tricks to catch cheating spouses. The site said the most important tool was record keeping. Everything from who the spouse claimed to see, where they went, what times they were gone, etc. I copied and pasted some of the information into a text to Mel. She sent a return text asking if I would be willing to follow him soon.

  "Sure. Will call you tomorrow."

  ***

  That night I dreamed my mom and I were standing in the kitchen of my childhood home. She was making my favorite Italian cookies, pizzelles, and appeared as she did before cancer ravaged her body, full-figured with a tiny waist. I resembled the nine-year-old Angela, buckteeth, pigtails, and not even remotely attractive.

  "Why are you gone, Ma?" I asked, picking at a cookie.

  "Ah Madone. I'm not gone. Just 'cause you can't see me don't mean I'm gone," she said.

  "Dad's dead."

  "I know."

  "It hurts," I said.

  "I know."

  "I need you, Ma. It's hard without you."

  "You gotta do the work."

  "But how? I don't know how." I handed her a Barbie with its head missing. "I can't fix her by myself."

  She said, "I know. I got it covered," and then she shimmered away.

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  Unbreakable Bonds An Angela Panther Mystery

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