The Life She Wants Page 2

  She shook her head. “I parked down the block in the only available space. I’d like to get going—I have a lot to do.”

  “Sure,” he said. He turned to Ethan. “I’m going to give Em a hand, visit with Penny a little. I’ll probably grab something to eat with them. I won’t be late.”

  Ethan lifted his chin and sniffed, but his reply was perfectly appropriate. “I think I’ll drop in on Nora and Ed. Sounds like a good night to get a little uncle time.”

  “Excellent. Give them my love.”

  Then, hand on her elbow, Lyle escorted her out of the shop. “I’m parked right here. I’ll drive you down to your car,” he said.

  “Oh, please, no,” she said, laughing. “My butt hurts so bad, I hate to even get back in the car. I’m going to walk—it’s only a block. And I have a cooler with some drinks for us. Listen, I don’t want to...” She tilted her head toward the store. “I don’t want to cause any friction. If you’ll just get me to the house and introduce me to your friend, I can manage from there.”

  “No worries, Emma. I explained to Ethan days ago that I was going to lend a hand when you got here.” He chuckled. “He was very adult about it. It’s time for him to pay his sister a visit anyway. They live a mile away and Ethan doesn’t visit as often as he should. I think I visit more than he does—we have a gorgeous niece. He can go over there and complain about me and my stubborn ways. Besides, I want to make sure you’re all right.”

  She smiled at him with gratitude. “I might never be all right again,” she said. “All I want right now is a little quiet and anonymity.”

  “Have you heard from Rosemary?” he asked.

  “I did her the courtesy of emailing her that I’d be moving to a small bungalow in Sebastopol and told her I could be reached through you. I don’t even trust her enough to give her my new cell number—I bet she’d sell it to the press. I take it you haven’t heard from her?” He shook his head and this came as no surprise. Rosemary had been in touch when she thought Richard was rich and powerful; after his fall from grace, she behaved as if she didn’t know him. “We haven’t made amends. She wasn’t exactly supportive.”

  “Your sisters should be helping you now,” he said.

  They had never done anything to help her. “We’ve never been that kind of family,” she said. Indeed, they weren’t family at all.

  “I can relate,” Lyle said.

  Emma knew Lyle had always had a hard time with his father, but at least his mother adored him. She gave his upper arm a squeeze. “Well, you’ve saved my life here. I’d be lost without this little place you found.”

  “It found me. Penny is elderly, but don’t use that word around her. She’s what we’d call spry. Almost eighty and still walking three miles a day, gardening and playing the occasional game of tennis. But the problem with living forever, the money thins out eventually.”

  “And she knows everything?” Emma asked.

  He nodded. “As you wished. She said, ‘We’ve all hooked up with the wrong person here and there, poor girl.’ This little bungalow is a sort of guesthouse, a casita, though her house, the main house, isn’t that much bigger. Prepare yourself, it’s all quite small. She doesn’t need a keeper. No care involved. But a little bit of rent will probably help you both.” He shook his head. “I don’t know that you’ve ever lived in anything this simple, Em. It’s old, musty, small and tacky.”

  “You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to it.”

  * * *

  The guesthouse was actually a remodeled freestanding garage with a wall and large picture window where the doors once were. The window looked out onto a pleasant tree-lined street. It was a tiny, two-room bungalow with a small bathroom and galley kitchen. A patio separated the guesthouse from Penelope Pennington’s two-bedroom house. “And of course you’re welcome to use the patio at any time,” Penny assured her. “And if you ever have any serious cooking to do, feel free to borrow my kitchen.”

  It was an attractive little arrangement. Penny had the driveway removed years before and now there was a carport and storage unit. In front of both little houses and on either side of the driveway and carport were two small patches of grass, shrubs, trees and flowers. From the patio one could reach Emma’s little abode on the right or Penny’s on the left. A tall, white fence with a gate bordered the property.

  It took less than half an hour to unload Emma’s small car. There wasn’t much furniture in the bungalow—a bed and bureau, a small table and two chairs, a couple of lamps, a small sofa and two armchairs. She had her own bedding and kitchenware. She found the guesthouse quaint and cozy. Her boxes and suitcases had yet to be unpacked, but she didn’t care. Lyle went off to a nearby market to get dinner, bringing Penny and Emma a huge Greek salad, some hummus, flatbread and a bottle of wine. They had their dinner at Penny’s, sitting around her little dining table, and Emma loved her at once.

  Then at last it was just Emma and Lyle, sitting in her cozy living room with a final glass of wine. She sat in a musty old overstuffed chair upholstered with a floral pattern, her feet up on an ottoman that didn’t quite match. Lyle relaxed on the sofa, his feet up on the coffee table.

  “This place really needs a fluff and buff,” he said.

  “I love it,” she said. “I think this will be my reading chair.”

  “How can you read with the flowers in that gaudy print screaming at you?”

  She laughed at him.

  “Have you given any thought to what kind of job you’re going to get?” he asked.

  “Well,” she said, taking a thoughtful sip. “I was considering being a life coach. What do you think?”

  “You can certainly provide plenty of experience with what not to do,” he said.

  “I can honestly say I haven’t felt this relaxed in years,” she said.

  Lyle was quiet for a moment. “Emmie, I don’t know what it’s going to be like for you around here. It’s a quiet town, but not without its resident gossips and petty meanness. Know what I mean?”

  “I grew up around here, remember?” she said. “No matter where I go, it’s going to follow me. But I was never indicted for any crime. And believe me, they looked hard and long.”

  “I just want you to be ready. In case.”

  “In case people are nasty to me or snigger when I walk by? That’s why I came here rather than trying to find some new place where I could be a stranger with a new identity—everyone figures it out eventually. Lies don’t last—Richard was proof of that. Let’s just get it over with. I was married to the late Richard Compton, the infamous broker and thief. There’s no way to undo it. And I didn’t have to think about it long—the stress of trying to keep it secret is something I’m just not up to. I could change my name, color my hair, even get a nose job if I had any money, but eventually everyone is going to know it’s me. It’s hopeless, Lyle—Google me and see for yourself.”

  “Under Emma Shay?”

  “And Emma Shay Compton, Emma Compton, Emma Catherine Shay.”

  “Dear God,” he groaned. “I hope it dwindles away quickly,” he said.

  “It’s all on the record. Anyone who’s curious is welcome to read all about it. There are even a couple of books, though they’re not very accurate.”

  “How’d he do it, Em?”

  She knew exactly what he was talking about. Richard’s suicide. She took a breath. She was surprised he hadn’t just looked it up—it was splattered, like Richard’s brains, across all the papers and internet news sites.

  “After he’d attempted to run via a colleague’s private jet with a fake passport, he was returned to jail and held without bond. The lawyers managed to negotiate house arrest with an ankle bracelet. After the guilty verdict was returned he tried to negotiate sentencing by giving up offshore account numbers, hoping to reduce his sentence. But no mat
ter what, he was going to jail for a long time. He opened the hidden safe behind the bookcase in his home office, pulled out his loaded Glock and shot himself. In the head.”

  Lyle shook his head. “He didn’t want to go to prison...”

  “I’m sure it was more than that,” she said. “Oh, there was no doubt prison would be horrendous, but that’s not why he did it. There was no material wealth left. There were no more offshore or Swiss accounts. It was really over. He was going to go to prison for fifty years and even if he was paroled early or could escape, there was nothing to allow him to retire quietly in Aruba, or some other remote island. With his stash.” She sighed. “It was the most important thing to him. The wealth.”

  “I’m surprised the police didn’t know about the safe or the gun,” he said. “Didn’t you say they searched the apartment?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know if they ever saw it—they weren’t looking for it. They confiscated his computers and lots of files from home and his office, all his electronics, but their warrant wasn’t for things like guns or drugs. I didn’t know about the gun.”

  “Did he do anything at all to try to protect you?” Lyle asked.

  She just shook her head.

  “And after he was buried?”

  “It was a couple of weeks yet until everything was gone and the paperwork on the auction and the sale of the apartment was final. I closed his office door and slept on a cot in the kitchen. It was the safest place for me. Marshals were watching the apartment and there was a doorman.” She made a face. “It was so horrible.”

  “I’m only going to say this one more time, Emmie, then we’re moving on. I’m just so, so sorry.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “Listen, you go home. And tell Ethan that I appreciate how decent he’s been and assure him I’m not going to be pestering the two of you. I found I do very well on my own. It’s lovely to be near you, but you don’t have to worry that this out-of-place girlfriend is going to be the needy type and make you feel invaded. I’m not going to be your third wheel.”

  “We have some very nice friends, a lot of them gay men, and there are more than enough third wheels in our crowd. Don’t worry about it. Call us whenever you feel like it.”

  “You’ve been wonderful. You’ve always been a better friend to me than I’ve been to you,” she said.

  “Not true. There’ve been very kind gestures here and there...”

  “Shhhh,” she warned. Before the trouble began, she had a household budget that was ridiculously large and she economized, leaving her a nice balance. It was her money and she used some to help fund the start-up of Hello, Gorgeous. Best if no one ever knew. Lyle had been interviewed about their relationship, possibly even investigated, but had never been any kind of suspect. In fact, they didn’t speak of it. Emma was fairly sure Ethan didn’t even know the details.

  “Suffice it to say, I’m glad you’re here,” Lyle said. “I’ve missed you. And now there are a couple of things I should tell you. People have asked about you, which of course they would. But a couple of old friends have asked a few times recently. Asked what you would do now. Riley came into the shop and asked if you were all right. She knows we’ve always been in touch, just as you know I keep up with her, but where you two are concerned I made it a policy to never carry tales between you. She wanted to know if there was anything you needed.”

  “Guilty conscience,” Emma said.

  “Easy, Emma. She might be one of the few people who can actually understand what you’re going through,” he said. “I know you’re not sympathetic, but she had to rebuild her life after you left. And Jock called. Divorced and living in Santa Rosa. He wanted to know if there was any chance you’d be coming back this way when it was all over. He said to tell you that if you need anything...”

  “Seriously?” she asked.

  “Very sincerely. I’m not his biggest fan, but he did offer support.”

  She said nothing. Of course she knew they were both here, Riley and Jock. Back when they were all so young, her best friend and her boyfriend. She’d returned for brief visits a few times after leaving so long ago and had not spoken to them, but she always knew they were still around. When she decided to come back here for good she knew it was possible she’d run into one or both of them eventually.

  “Might be time to move on from that haunt, Emma,” Lyle said.

  “I have moved on,” she answered. “I’ve moved on from a lot of things. And I’m not going back one step.”

  Chapter Two

  When Emma Catherine Shay was nine years old, a fourth grader at St. Pascal’s elementary school in Santa Rosa, a couple of new kids came to school. Riley and Adam Kerrigan. Riley was in Emma’s class and the teacher asked her to be responsible for helping Riley get acquainted and adjusted.

  Emma, known for being friendly and a child who wished to please, was annoyed. First of all, she already had two best friends—Susanna and Paula—and Riley’s hanging around was interfering with her routine. Second, Riley apparently couldn’t talk. She followed along or sat at the lunch table all quiet and nervous. When she did speak, she could barely be heard. Third, and Emma knew this was wrong, but the girl was a rag doll. She wore old clothes that didn’t even fit her right.

  Riley’s older brother, Adam, so somber and quiet, waited after school to walk home together so at least Emma didn’t have that chore. And all of it—spending time with Riley—was monotonous. But, so Sister Judith would be proud of her, Emma did the best she could with the odd little creature with the unhappy personality. At the end of the second day Riley surprised Emma when she spoke softly. “I know where to go and what to do now. You can go be with your friends.”

  Emma felt like a turd. “We’ll just all hang out together,” she said, hating her overzealous conscience.

  Then, over the next few days, Emma learned that Riley, Adam and their mother came to Santa Rosa to live with Riley’s grandparents in their tiny house because Riley’s dad had gotten very sick and died. So now Riley wasn’t just shy and poor, she was also bereaved. Emma was stuck with her.

  But Emma couldn’t deny that she was completely sympathetic—she’d lost her own mother, though she had been too young to remember her. Her father had remarried when she was just a toddler, probably largely to have help with his child. He had married Rosemary, an efficient and hardworking widow with a three-year-old daughter, Anna. Three years later they had a baby together, another girl. Baby Lauren. The only mother she had ever known was her stepmother, and of the three children, Rosemary liked Emma least. Emma understood by the time she was ten that it had been a marriage of convenience.

  Emma was plotting her escape from Riley when a few things shifted as Riley got more comfortable with her new surroundings. First off, she was hilarious and once they got laughing, they could hardly stop. When she wasn’t feeling scared and lonely, Riley’s voice was strong and confident. She was very good in school and rose to the head of the class quickly. She could help Emma and not the other way around. And Riley’s mother, June, turned out to be the most wonderful, loving, fun and positive woman in the entire world, embracing Emma and making her feel so cherished. Riley’s grandparents acted like it was their lucky day the Kerrigans moved in even though they were stuffed into the little house. They were crowded and money was tight but there was more laughter there than there had ever been in Emma’s house. Riley and Adam wore hand-me-down clothes, their grandparents were elderly, and June Kerrigan cleaned houses and waitressed to make ends meet, but Emma was always welcome, made to feel like a member of the family.

  Emma’s home life wasn’t nearly so happy. Rosemary wasn’t abusive in any obvious way but she was emotionally flat where Emma was concerned.

  Rosemary complained about how hard she had to work at the DMV, how much stress she had in her life, how messy and lazy Emma’s father was, her weigh
t, her friends and a variety of issues. Aside from Anna and Lauren, there didn’t seem to be much she enjoyed. Although Rosemary always referred to Emma and Lauren as her daughters, there was little doubt that Anna was her favorite. It wasn’t long before Emma was happier at Riley’s house than at her own. And hardly surprisingly, Rosemary didn’t mind her absence at home much.

  We were going to be each other’s maid of honor. We were going to have children at the same time so they could be best friends, too.

  From the day Sister Judith forced them together until high school graduation, Emma and Riley were inseparable. Riley’s grandpa called them conjoined twins. They stuck together through thick and thin, through the sudden death of Emma’s father when she was sixteen, Rosemary’s third marriage to Vince Kingston, and every issue that plagued teenagedom. Their friendship was cast in iron and they had very few tiffs. Until they fell out over a boy. One Jock Curry. Yes, it was his given name. He was named for a grandfather.

  They’d both crushed on him in high school. They thought he was smart, sexy, athletic, funny. Every girl wanted him and he apparently wanted every girl, but once he settled on Emma during their senior year, that was it for him. He said his roaming days were over. Of course, he was all of seventeen at the time. He tried to talk Emma into going to the same community college he’d chosen or at least staying close to home, but she had a scholarship and was going to Seattle Pacific University, known for its interior-design program. Of the two girls, she was the least likely to get a scholarship, but even with one, Riley’s family couldn’t afford any part of the expense of living away from home or attending an out-of-state university. Emma could manage with working part-time, taking out loans, and Rosemary was able to send a little money—fifty here, fifty there. And she had big dreams; she was going to design the interiors of five-star hotels and luxurious mansions!

  Riley enrolled in the same community college as Jock, lived at home and began cleaning houses just like her mom always had.