“Bastards,” Missy muttered as she banged down her glass. “How dare they put you, or anyone, through that.”
Christy-Lynn blinked at her. “You’re not . . . mad?”
“Oh, I’m mad,” Missy assured her. “But not for the reasons you think. I’m upset that you didn’t think you could trust us with the truth. But I guess I get why you were scared.”
“I’m sorry. Truly. Today when you came to the shop—”
“You were white as a sheet. I thought you were just tired, and then I saw the guy standing there holding that book, babbling on about your husband, and I didn’t know what to think. I hope you don’t mind, but I did a little snooping online after I left the store. I couldn’t believe it. Those hideous tabloid pictures. And then to be hounded like that.” She scowled as she reached for her glass. “Bastards.”
“Can’t you sue them or something?” Dar asked with uncharacteristic heat. “I don’t care how famous your husband was or who was in his car when it went off that bridge. There are just some things that aren’t anybody else’s business. Like you in your underwear, for Pete’s sake. They didn’t print that, did they?”
“I don’t think so. At least I never saw it. The morgue pictures were bad enough.”
Missy was shaking her head again. “How on earth did they get hold of them? Shouldn’t they have been . . . I don’t know . . . confidential or something? I mean, for pity’s sake, she wasn’t wearing a shirt. Who wants to see that?”
Dar pulled a face as she reached for a chip. “Are you kidding? People can’t get enough of that kind of trash. They don’t even care if it’s true as long as it’s juicy.”
Missy sat with arms folded, chin jutting peevishly. “Trash is exactly what it is.”
Christy-Lynn stared at them in disbelief. “You’re both being so nice. I thought you’d be furious. Not that you wouldn’t be justified. I lied to you.”
Missy gave her hand a pat. “Of course you did, honey. You were doing what you needed to. And who’s to say we wouldn’t have done exactly the same thing if we’d been in your shoes?”
Christy-Lynn’s throat tightened. “I don’t know what to say.”
Missy shot her a wink. “Say you see Marco around here somewhere. We’re supposed to be celebrating, and my glass is empty.”
The mood lightened considerably when the appetizers and a fresh round of drinks arrived at the table. The banter had nearly returned to normal when Missy looked up from her nachos, blotting her mouth with exaggerated daintiness. “All right, I think it’s time one of us asked what we’ve both been wondering since learning the truth about your dearly departed.”
Missy’s countenance was suddenly somber. Christy-Lynn put down her fork, bracing for whatever might be coming. “Okay.”
“How much did the bastard leave you?”
Dar covered her mouth, smothering a giggle while trying to look stern. “Missy! Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s impolite to ask someone how much money they have?”
“Oh, like you haven’t been dying to know!”
“That isn’t the point,” Dar barked, still fighting laughter as she turned to Christy-Lynn. “I’m sorry about her. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
But Christy-Lynn took no offense. “It’s all right, really, though the truth is I’m not entirely sure what it all added up to. Stephen always handled that end of things, and after he died, there was so much to take care of. Then I was trying to get the store open. There are still some accounts I have to sort out.”
“But you’re loaded, right?”
“Missy, that is none of our business!”
Christy-Lynn couldn’t help laughing. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
“I’m not going to lie,” Missy said, picking up her fork again. “I did wonder what kind of life insurance policy would pay for the store and a house. Now I’m wondering why you don’t just coast a little. There’s so much you could do with money like that.”
Christy-Lynn reached for her iced-tea glass, fiddling with the straw. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I’ve actually been struggling with the idea of spending it at all. I have the store now and the bungalow, but that money came from the sale of our house in Clear Harbor. The rest of it, all the investments and the money Stephen earned from his books, is just sitting there piling up. I know it’s mine legally, but after everything that’s happened, I don’t know. Stephen had an opinion about everything. Where we lived. What we ate. Even how I wore my hair. Because I let him. I guess I just want this to be about me, about what I want.” She shrugged. “I want to do this myself, to build it from the ground up. Does that make sense?”
Missy smiled softly. “Of course it does. In fact, it’s why I bought the inn. Finding myself divorced with two little boys felt like standing at ground zero. I had no idea what my life was supposed to look like. I just knew I needed a plan, fast. So I bought the inn. It was my compass; a direction I could point myself in every day and say this is who I am now, this is what I do. The store is your compass. It’ll feel scary for a while, and you’ll just know you’re in over your head. And then one day when you aren’t paying attention, you’ll realize it’s going to be okay. That’s a pretty good day.”
Christy-Lynn found herself blinking back tears. She liked the idea of finding her compass, of it someday being okay. “Thank you—both of you—for being so supportive. I’m not sure I deserve it, but I’m grateful.”
“Oh, hush,” Dar shot back. “It’s what friends do. What I really want is to hear about the guy who came into the store. How do you know him?”
“His name is Wade Pierce. He was Stephen’s roommate in college. For a while, at least. They had a falling-out.”
“What over?”
“I don’t know. Stephen never wanted to talk about it, and when Stephen locked something in the vault, it stayed there. I always assumed it was a woman.”
“Well, I can certainly see that,” Missy said, batting her eyes coyly. “He was rather hunky. At least six three, with great shoulders. A nice face too, if you like them scruffy.”
Dar wrinkled her nose. “No thanks. I had a scruffy one once, used to give me beard burn. What does he do, Christy-Lynn?”
“He’s a reporter.”
Missy’s expression hardened. “No wonder you went white as a sheet when you saw him. If the press is still looking for you, he could be trouble.”
“Lucky for me, the public has a short attention span. For now at least, they seem to have moved on to greener pastures. And with any luck, it’ll stay that way. Besides, he claims he’s quit the news business. He’s supposedly working on a novel and living in a cabin up by the lake, apparently without television or Wi-Fi. He didn’t even know Stephen was dead until I told him.”
“You know,” Missy said, tapping her lower lip thoughtfully. “I think my father knew his grandfather. Grayson Pierce his name was, but he went by Grady. According to Daddy, he was a real craftsman. Built that cabin with his own two hands. He died a few years back. I didn’t know anyone was living up there. It’s in the middle of nowhere though, so I suppose it would be a good place to write. No neighbors and smack-dab on the lake.”
Christy-Lynn shrugged. “I don’t know anything about his family or the cabin, except that he brought Stephen there a few times to fish back when they were still friends.”
“Rotten luck having him turn up and spoil your big day.” Missy’s gaze narrowed suddenly. “You don’t think he’ll cause trouble, do you?”
“He could if he wanted to, but I’m hoping he doesn’t. He claims he’s through with that part of his life. He said he had to leave New York to get the taste of it out of his mouth.”
Missy grunted, clearly not convinced. “I’d still watch my back if I were you.”
Christy-Lynn offered a noncommittal nod. It was hard to find fault with her advice, but she couldn’t help feeling a little guilty about the way she’d gone after Wade in the café, lumping him in with the mob in her d
riveway when the truth was, apart from his dislike of Stephen, she knew almost nothing about him.
She had assumed—judged. And tonight she had arrived at Taco Loco expecting the same from Missy and Dar. Instead, they had rallied around her, accepting her story at face value and without judgment. It seemed she had a lot to learn about this friendship business.
NINETEEN
Christy-Lynn checked her watch, hoping it wasn’t too late for an impromptu visit. She’d been halfway home after dinner with Missy and Dar when she decided she needed to set the record straight. Unfortunately, directory assistance had no listing for a Wade Pierce, which appeared to back up his story about living off the grid, but also meant having to drive all the way up to Silver Lake in the dark, armed with nothing but Missy’s vague description of a lakefront cabin in the middle of nowhere.
Thankfully, the description turned out to be spot-on and enough to get her where she was going. But now, as she stepped up onto Wade’s front porch, she was having second thoughts. Yes, she’d been ratty, had even resorted to name calling, but under the circumstances that was hardly surprising. Maybe she should just scurry back to the Rover and forget the whole thing.
Before she could make up her mind, the door swung open. Wade made no attempt to hide his surprise. “Christine. Sorry . . . Christy-Lynn. I thought I heard someone pull up. What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry. I hope it’s not too late to come by.”
“Um . . . no.” He was holding a mug, and the smell of coffee drifted out onto the porch. “Come on in. I just brewed a fresh pot if you’re interested.”
“No. No, thank you. I won’t be long. I just wanted to talk about this afternoon.”
“Can we talk in the kitchen? I need a refill.”
Christy-Lynn surveyed the cabin as she followed Wade through to the kitchen. It was small, but the open plan and vaulted ceiling gave it a surprisingly spacious feel. There was a stairway in one corner and a roomy loft overhead. If she craned her neck, she could just glimpse the foot of an unmade bed.
“Are you sure I can’t pour you one?”
“No, thanks.” Her gaze drifted to the expanse of moonlit water beyond the sliding glass doors. “Quite a view.”
“Yes.”
An awkward silence spooled out as they stared at each other. Finally, Christy-Lynn found her tongue. “About today. I may have been out of line when I said what I said.”
Wade’s shoulders seemed to relax, though not completely. “Forget it. I caught you off guard.”
“It’s just that I’ve been trying to put everything behind me, and when you showed up out of the blue, all I could think of was the circus starting all over again.”
He sipped slowly, as if mulling over her words. “You assumed the minute I left the store I would pick up the phone and tip off an old friend.”
“Something like that.”
“Do you always assume the worst about people or is it just me?”
Christy-Lynn wasn’t sure how to answer that, though it was certainly a fair question. Perhaps it was a little of both, though his bristly manner at present was hardly helping his case. “Look, I came to apologize, but you’re not making it easy.”
Wade scrubbed at the scruff along his jaw. It wasn’t a look Stephen could have pulled off, but on Wade, it worked. “I did offer you coffee.”
Christy-Lynn ignored the remark. She wasn’t in the mood for humor. “Just let me say what I came to say, and then I’ll go. I’m not an idiot. I know you had some kind of ax to grind with my husband, and I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions this afternoon. I shouldn’t have. But it’s hard not to think that all of this isn’t enormously satisfying for you.”
“Whoa.” Wade set down his mug very slowly. “For someone trying to apologize, that’s a pretty harsh accusation. You’re saying I’m taking some sort of perverse glee in all this?”
“I’m just stating the facts as I see them. I don’t know what happened between you and my husband all those years ago. He never would tell me. I just assumed you fell for the same girl—and that you lost.”
Wade’s expression hardened. “I assure you the bad blood between Stephen and me had nothing to do with losing out on the homecoming queen.”
“You’re not going to tell me either.”
He picked up his mug, giving it a swirl. “No.”
“Fine. Here’s what I came to say—I know there’s nothing stopping you from picking up the phone. In fact, I’m pretty sure you could make a nice buck if you wanted to, but—”
Wade cut her off with a huff of his own. “First of all, real journalists don’t pay for stories. It’s not what you call . . . ethical. Second, I’m not in the habit of ratting out friends.”
Christy-Lynn’s chin lifted a notch. “Stephen wasn’t your friend. You’ve made that clear, even if you won’t say why.”
“I was talking about you.”
“Oh.” The statement knocked her a little off balance. “Well, I’m not your friend either, am I? And you were a reporter, presumably one who still has connections, though until you actually pick up the phone, I guess I’ll have to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“Well, it’s not exactly warm and fuzzy, but I’ll take it. And I wasn’t lying when I said I was done with that life, Christy-Lynn. It cost me a great deal to walk away, but I did it. Because I was tired of looking in the mirror and not liking what I saw. I wanted to do something worthwhile, something that made me remember who I was before they got their hooks in me. Except, I’m still not sure I know. Sounds crazy, doesn’t it? Not knowing who you are?”
She had been staring out over the lake. She turned to face him. “Actually, it doesn’t. Sound crazy, I mean. Sometimes things happen, things we can’t control, and it knocks us down—hard. Getting up isn’t easy.” She turned back toward the glass. “Sometimes it’s impossible.”
“The woman,” Wade said quietly. “The one in the car with Stephen when he died. That’s what you meant by things we can’t control.”
“Yes.”
“And what else?”
“Nothing.” She shrugged, stepping away from the door. “I don’t know. Questions. The kind that creep in when the initial numbness starts to wear off. How long had it been going on? Did he love her?” She paused, hugging her arms tight to her body. “Was it my fault?”
“Did you just say was it your fault?”
Her eyes slid from his. “Men cheat because they’re trying to make up for something they’re not getting at home.”
“Who the hell sold you that load of crap? Cosmo?”
The harsh response startled her. It also got under her skin. “Okay, you’re the expert on male behavior. Why do you think he did it?”
“Because he was Stephen. And because he thought he could get away with it.”
She avoided his gaze, running her eyes around the small kitchen; knotty pine cabinets with wrought iron hardware, a plate rail over the sink stacked with thick brown stoneware. “I could’ve been a better wife,” she finally blurted. “Maybe that’s why he went looking. Because I wasn’t enough.”
Wade shook his head, either annoyed or baffled. “Men like Stephen don’t cheat because they’re missing something at home, Christy-Lynn. They cheat because they’re missing something inside, so they take what they want and make it theirs, because they need to fill up all that empty space. That’s what this woman was. A space filler, something he wanted and took. It wasn’t about you.”
She stared at him, weighing his words. “How do you know?”
“Experience.”
He’d said it without flinching, as if there was no other answer possible, and suddenly she realized this was what she’d come for. Not to deliver some grudging apology, but to connect with someone who had known her husband, another human being who knew the man—perhaps the real man—she had married.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“For what?”
“Listening, I guess. There are so m
any things I don’t know, so many questions without answers. I haven’t really talked to anyone about any of it, unless you count Detective Connelly, and he’s not doing much talking these days.”
“Have you thought about going over his head?”
“I’ve threatened to.”
“Threatening isn’t doing.”
There it was again, the undisguised rebuke she had detected earlier, plucking at nerves already exposed and raw. “I’ve been a little busy getting the store open,” she replied coolly. “But the last time I spoke with him, he assured me I’d be wasting my time.”
“How long ago was that?”
“I don’t know. A few months.”
“So that’s it? You just took his word? A few minutes ago, you said you had all kinds of questions, and now you tell me you haven’t spoken to him in months. It’s none of my business, but maybe it’s time to ask yourself if you really want to know.”
Christy-Lynn felt her spine stiffen. He had a way of locking on her eyes, holding them until she wanted to squirm. A natural trait, she wondered, or something he had cultivated as a reporter? Either way, it was unnerving.
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“Just that sometimes not knowing is easier than coming face-to-face with the facts. Believe me, I have some experience with this. The facts may suck, but they’re still the facts. Pretending they’re not never works.”
“You think I’m pretending?”
“I think you’re hiding. And I get why. Just don’t be surprised if you reach a point where it stops working.”
Hiding. It was the perfect word for what she’d been doing. Dodging uncomfortable truths while pretending to be too busy to pick up the phone. Because what then? Knowing the truth meant having to do something about it, didn’t it? She’d have to process it, somehow. Own it. Live with it. Was she prepared to do that?
“I think I’d better go.”
“I’m not judging, Christy-Lynn.”
“Aren’t you?”
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