by Wendy Wax
Surprise flickered in his eyes but still he said nothing.
“Got it. Message received.” With her head up and her shoulders back, she turned and strode back to her car, careful not to run. She fired up the engine, looked back over her shoulder, and reversed down the driveway, relieved to have something other than Chase to look at. As she threw the car into drive and mashed her foot down on the gas pedal, she told herself the squeal of tires didn’t mean she was fleeing. It meant she was making an exit.
• • •
Bitsy wasn’t sure she actually wanted to leave her car at all. She’d followed the GPS across the Gandy Bridge to Tampa and from there to a small green clapboard house on MacDill Avenue not far from the Air Force base of the same name. It was obvious that this portion of the street had originally been residential but was now an uneasy mix of commercial and retail enterprises. It wasn’t the kind of street any of the white shoe law firms she was used to would have chosen, but then those firms had already turned her down when they’d discovered she could no longer scrape up the money to pay for even an hour or two of their time. She drove past a nail salon, a Laundromat, and a combination kosher deli/Chinese restaurant before finally spotting the law office.
According to their website, Steding & Steding specialized in divorces, missing persons, and skip tracing, the very legal services she required. Best of all, it provided a free thirty-minute consultation with one of the name partners to determine whether the firm could be of help.
She found a parking space near a Goodwill resale store, climbed out of the Land Rover, and walked across the cracked sidewalk. The law firm’s front window was coated with a dark film on which Steding & Steding had been stenciled in what had once been gold paint.
A bell tinkled cheerily as she entered the former living room, but there was no one in the reception area to hear it. The space was small and the wood floors were scuffed, but the walls had been painted a butterscotch yellow trimmed in white. She moved into a sitting area that took up most of the space and sat on one of the faux leather chairs. The magazine-strewn coffee table held a clipboarded sign-in sheet. She’d barely finished writing her name when an unmarked door on the far wall opened.
“Ms. Baynard?”
Bitsy nodded.
The middle-aged woman who walked toward her had surprisingly white skin splattered with freckles, a somewhat barrel-shaped body, and wash-and-wear red-gold hair. Her turquoise skirt fell in soft folds just below her knees. A multi-angled tunic top in white, black, and turquoise skimmed down one hip. Her black sandals were sensible, but her costume jewelry was colorfully tasteful, her smile appeared genuine, and her hazel green eyes intelligent. “I’m June Steding.” She stuck out her hand and looked into Bitsy’s eyes. “I’m gathering I’m not what you were hoping for.”
The woman’s gaze was steady, her handshake firm. But could it make a fist that would deliver a knockout punch? “I’m sorry,” Bitsy said. “I hope you won’t take this personally, but I need a pit bull. Someone relentless. And . . . ballsy.” Not this woman who looked like a cross between June Cleaver and Margaret Thatcher.
“I’ve been called all of those things at one time or another.” June Steding smiled. “Though I don’t think it was ever a compliment. Why don’t you come sit down and tell me why you’re here?”
Steding motioned Bitsy to a chair then settled behind the antique partner’s desk. The only other furnishings in the room were the file cabinets and bookcases that took up the back wall. Muted daylight shone through the tinted window that overlooked the sidewalk. A diploma from Stetson Law School and a smattering of family photos were the only decorations.
“How many other lawyers are with the firm?”
“None.”
“What happened to the other Steding?”
“The other Steding was my father. He’s retired. People feel better going to what looks like a two-man firm than to a lone female attorney. He does consult on cases from time to time.” She studied Bitsy for a long moment. “I actually started in social work, but I found it frustrating. No real power or teeth behind your efforts, and I saw a lot of people, especially women and children, get trampled. I went back to school and got a law degree so that I could fight harder and more successfully for my clients.” The attorney sat back and steepled her hands on her desk. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me what brought you here. Then we’ll decide together whether I can help.”
Bitsy looked the woman in the eye. “My husband ran away with an exotic dancer named Delilah and took my family’s fortune with him. They’re having a baby.” She was ashamed to feel her eyes go damp, but she saw no judgment in June’s eyes. “I want him found and brought back so that I can divorce him and the money he stole can be recovered. And then I want him put in jail for stealing everything I had and for being so crushingly disappointing.”
June pulled a box of Kleenex from a drawer and pushed it toward Bitsy. “Any idea where he might have headed?”
“No. I didn’t even have enough money left to hire a PI.” Bitsy looked down at her hands, which were clenched in her lap. “I feel like an imbecile for being caught so unprepared, but I honestly thought he loved me. I mean, I know my money was part of the attraction but we were married for fifteen years, and he had full access to everything.”
“No prenup?”
“No. That’s how sure I was that we were in it for the long haul.”
June Steding leaned back in her chair and shook her head. “Don’t beat yourself up. You’d be shocked at how many women are taken by surprise.”
Bitsy hesitated, embarrassed to ask the question she couldn’t quite let go of. “I keep wondering if there might be some reason, some threat he was facing, some explanation—other than him being a greedy, selfish cheater—that might explain why he did this.”
Steding’s smile was kind. “I know what you want to hear. But I deal with men who leave and take everything with them all the time—though they don’t usually have access to fortunes. It’s pretty much never motivated by more than selfishness and greed.
“That’s why I do what I do—drag back deadbeat dads and skip-out husbands then do my best to force them to take care of their children or do right by the women they made a legal promise to love, honor, and cherish. I don’t do this because I can’t get better-paying cases. I do this because I hate people who don’t keep their word and especially those who lie to take advantage of others. It’s personal for me every time.”
Bitsy watched June Steding’s face harden. Her hazel green eyes glittered like ice chips. She might not have the inbred viciousness of a pit bull or the shark’s taste for blood, but she had a strong streak of fair play and a palpable determination and will. In every sense but the physical, this woman had what appeared to be some very large cojones. “I’m not sure if you know this or not, but according to Florida law in order to prove abandonment, you must be abandoned for twelve uninterrupted months. If your husband returns before those twelve months are over and you refuse to take him back, he could actually sue you for desertion.”
“That is so wrong on every level,” Bitsy said. Not that she had anything left that was worth suing for.
“Yes, it is,” Steding agreed. “But Florida law can be quite twisted to my way of thinking.”
“So what happens now?” Bitsy asked tentatively.
“I’ll give you a standard contract to look over. If you choose to proceed, we’ll begin the search online. In fact, you can save money by doing some of the legwork yourself at my direction.” The attorney pulled the paperwork from a drawer and placed it on the center of her desk in front of Bitsy. “But first you need to give some serious thought to just how quickly you want to find him.”
Thirty-two
Maddie tiptoed out of Nikki’s bedroom and past the nursery, where both babies had somehow fallen asleep at the same time. She found Joe on the couch, head thrown back, eye
s closed. His parents had gone back to the motel after dinner claiming that Nonna Sofia needed an early night, but Maddie had no doubt they were all probably down for the count by now despite the fact that the sun had not yet set.
Joe opened his eyes as she entered the living room. There were dark smudges beneath them. Even darker stubble shadowed his face. “Thanks for your help,” he said groggily.
“My pleasure. It can be a little overwhelming at first.”
“Tell me about it,” he said, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of one hand. “I’ve always loved being with my sister’s kids, but it seems I may have underestimated what dealing with two newborns would be like.”
Maddie smiled. “It can be a bit of a shock to the system. Kyra and Andrew were four years apart, so I wasn’t dealing with two newborns. From everything I’ve heard, twins are way more than twice as challenging.”
“They are a force.” Joe sat up with a yawn. “But we do have a platoon of people helping, which helps keep the panic at bay.” He winced. “I’m not completely awake here. Did I just say that out loud?”
She nodded, doing her best not to smile.
“Yeah, well, this is harder than I expected. And somehow the stakes feel . . . so high.”
“Higher than a hostage negotiation? Or dodging bullets?” Maddie asked. “You’ve been the picture of calm since you arrived at the hospital after pulling a James Bond to get there in time.”
Joe ran a hand through his hair. “I’m trained to appear calm and to solve problems no matter how dire the circumstances. You can’t let a person who’s holding a gun on you see how nervous you are. But the girls?” He shook his head slowly. “They’re so tiny and helpless. Half the time I’m afraid if I make the wrong move, I might break one of them. And . . .” He hesitated, but Maddie waited him out.
“And I’m worried about Nikki.” That worry filled his eyes and voice. It was the first time he’d alluded to what she knew all of them were sensing. “I know exhaustion’s part of the job description, but she seems so fragile—which is not an adjective I ever thought I’d use to describe Nikki. I feel like I need to jump in at the first cry and act like none of this is a big deal, because I’m afraid . . .” Once again he hesitated.
“Of what?” she asked softly, her eyes holding his.
“That if it gets too hard, she’ll . . . I’m not sure exactly what I’m afraid of, but I don’t want to find out.” He expelled a breath of air as she took a seat across from him. “Any suggestions?”
“Well, for one thing, you might stop acting so competent.”
He looked at her in surprise. “You don’t think it makes her feel more comfortable?”
“I think it makes her feel incompetent, which is entirely normal at this stage of the game. But she’s comparing herself to you and feels like she’s falling short. It’s important for her to handle things she’s nervous about. If you’re always jumping in before she can or she’s always handing the babies off, it could take a lot longer for her to gain confidence.”
“So you think I should fumble around? Let her see how often I seem to put those blasted diapers on backward on my first attempt? Or admit that I once fed the same baby twice instead of each of them once?”
Maddie smiled. “I wouldn’t go all Three Stooges or anything, but it might help her to know she’s not the only one who’s nervous. I’m guessing it’s the fear and stress that are causing her headaches, but it’s been two weeks now. I know your folks will be heading home soon, and at some point you’re going to have to go back to work. We need to find ways to help her get more comfortable.”
“Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” Maddie stood to retrieve her purse from the counter. As Joe walked her to the door, she thought of the advice she’d handed out so freely during the last sunset. She turned to face him. “So this is none of my business,” she said, speaking quickly before she could lose her nerve. “But I don’t think it would hurt to remind Nikki that you, um, still want to marry her.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Assuming, you know, that you still do.”
“I’m not the one who said no three times.” Joe looked every bit as uncomfortable as she felt. “I just figured if I stopped asking, the idea might become more appealing. You know, because sometimes what we want most are the things we think we can’t have.” His last statement sounded suspiciously like a direct quote.
Maddie had never been quite so tempted to roll her eyes. “No woman came up with that idea,” she said firmly. “And whatever man suggested it should probably be shot.”
“Yeah.” He swallowed. “Sometimes when you’re flying blind, you grab the first parachute you come across.”
Maddie managed not to laugh. “Look, Joe, the woman is overwhelmed and seriously sleep-deprived. If you think she’s going to just wake up one day and say she’d like to get married when you haven’t mentioned the idea in . . . how long has it been?”
He grimaced. “A while.”
“Right. Well, as they say, if you don’t ask, you don’t get. And of course, there’s also, ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’” Maddie settled her purse on her shoulder. “So since you asked for suggestions, here goes. Number one—stop pretending you’re Super Dad. Number two—please, before it’s too late, tell her how very much you still want to marry her.” She reached for the doorknob then realized there was a number three. “And no matter what she says, don’t take no for an answer.”
• • •
Maddie was in the minivan on the way back to Bella Flora and still smiling over Joe’s confession of parental cowardice when her cell phone rang.
“Maddie?” Lori Blair sounded as perkily efficient as ever. “I’ve got Will on the line.”
Maddie was still processing when William’s voice filled her ear. “Hey there, Maddie-fan. How are things going?” The warmth in that voice reminded her just how long it had been since they’d spoken.
“Good,” she said. “Unless you count Kyra’s loan against Bella Flora, the number of Sunshine cottages still unsold, the loss of Do Over, and our lack of anything to replace it.”
“Ahhh,” he said. “I’m sorry to hear you’re dealing with all that. Maybe we should downgrade to what Lori likes to refer to as ‘Good-ish,’ at least temporarily.”
“I’m a little reluctant to borrow vocabulary from someone who dots her i with a heart, but I may have to make an exception this time,” she said. “Speaking of Lori, when did she start placing your personal calls?”
“When she started worrying that Aaron was going to let her go if she didn’t look busier. I’m apparently lower maintenance than the label was expecting.”
Maddie turned west then took a left onto the aptly named Gulf Way. “Maybe it’s time to get more demanding. It would probably take her a couple hours to remove all the blue M&M’s from the bowls backstage before each show or, I don’t know, maybe you could ask her to iron your T-shirts or organize your fishing lures by size and color and insect resembled.”
He snorted. “She actually suggested I trash my hotel room in Phoenix. Apparently, Aaron thinks I’ve lost my edge, that I’m too boring. Just because I’m eating a macrobiotic diet and don’t actually want any of the women who come on to me.”
The beach flew by on her right, mom-and-pop hotels and new multimillion-dollar homes passed on her left, but most of her attention was focused on not thinking about how many women he might be fending off. A handful? Two dozen? “Well, that’s something I can’t feel too bad about.” She remembered her shock the first time she’d seen the naked photos and lacy thongs women had pressed on him when he first started performing again. A nationwide tour meant a whole country full of willing, aggressive women. All of whom were probably younger and more attractive than she was.
“Aaron wants me to at least pretend to be interested, or be seen out with someone on occasion for the press.”
Unable
to come up with a response that didn’t sound too needy, she drove in silence.
“I told him I’m holding out for the real thing,” Will said. “How long do you think it will be until you can get away?”
Even now she found it hard to believe that she was the real thing he was referring to. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully, filling him in on her conversation with Joe and their concerns about Nikki as she continued south past the Hurricane Restaurant and the Paradise Grille. A few short blocks later, she pulled into Bella Flora’s bricked drive. Phone still pressed to her ear, she entered through the kitchen, saw Kyra and Dustin in the pool, and went up the back stairs to her bedroom. “I wish you were here.”
“Me, too.” Will’s voice was husky as she put the phone on speaker, set it on the bed, and began to remove her T-shirt.
“What are you doing right now?”
“I’m um . . .” She pulled the shirt over her head and reached somewhat frantically for the phone to make sure she wasn’t accidentally FaceTiming. “I’m getting undressed.”
“Hmmmm.” His voice went even huskier and she could almost see the smile undoubtedly hovering on his lips. “I definitely wish I was there to help.”
She felt a prickle of awareness as she moved into the bathroom and turned on the tub faucets.
“What are you doing now?” he asked in what she’d always thought of as his bedroom voice.
“Running a bath.” She placed the phone on the rim of the tub and twisted her hair into a knot.
“I’m almost afraid to ask, seeing as how I’m a thousand miles away and all alone here. But . . . what are you wearing now?”
She felt a flush of heat spread across her chest and up her neck as she lowered herself into the bath and knew it had nothing to do with the water temperature. Warm water swirled around her naked body like a caress. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” And then, “Is this an obscene phone call?”