The Life She Wants Page 3

  Jock had no specific plans except to get the minimum education, work part time, play a little baseball and enjoy himself.

  Emma didn’t suspect anything was going on in her absence until right before Christmas break. Riley was acting strangely. Jock and Riley were hanging out together a lot, but shouldn’t that be expected? Her guy and her best friend, going to school together and everything? She trusted them, after all. Then she had this nagging feeling it wasn’t all right, that it was a betrayal. Riley was different toward her; Jock was a little too much himself—jovial and confident and relaxed. He’d gone from ragging on her about taking more time to talk to him on the phone to not noticing how long it had been since they’d had one of those long, whispery, late-night conversations.

  She suspected her best friend was too close to her boyfriend. When Emma confronted her, Riley burst into tears, admitted it, swore it wasn’t entirely her fault, that Jock had taken advantage of the fact that she’d always liked him a lot, that she had been so lonely without her best friend.

  Jock had said, “Hey, grow up. It didn’t really mean anything. Besides, what did you expect? You didn’t have time for either one of us.”

  Emma never really did understand how something like that just happens, especially when both Riley and Jock insisted they hadn’t meant it to, that it was all a terrible mistake. Then they both turned it back on her, as if it was her fault for going away to school. All she knew was that she was devastated and had lost the two most important people in her life. She could never trust either one of them again and the feeling was so painful it doubled her over. She went back to Seattle after Christmas break completely decimated by the hurt. She tried to date and that didn’t go well. Riley wrote her a couple of letters, left her a few messages, but Emma was too hurt to respond. And she didn’t go back to Santa Rosa until summer break. Even then, she hadn’t wanted to—there was nothing there for her anymore. Her father was dead, her stepmother was a cold fish who clearly hated her, her stepmother’s new husband was an old lecher, her sisters didn’t care about her...

  She didn’t stay in Santa Rosa long. She learned what no one wanted to tell her. Oh, but Emma’s stepsister Anna couldn’t wait to tell her—Riley was pregnant. While Emma was at school, those two had been knocking boots like mad and now they were having a baby. Emma bid a tearful goodbye to Lyle, cleared everything out of her father’s house, the house she grew up in, and headed back to Seattle as fast as she could. She got herself a job, joined a sorority, visited Santa Rosa very rarely and very briefly. When she did go, she stayed with Lyle.

  Even Seattle wasn’t far enough away. Upon her graduation, she secured a job in New York and moved to the other coast. Within three years she was a buyer for one of the largest independent department stores in the US and traveled all over the world for her household wares. She was a specialist in interiors and had fantasies about starting her own design firm.

  But then she met Richard...

  If there was one thing Emma had learned from the experience it was that she could hold a grudge. The fact that Riley’s relationship with Jock hadn’t lasted, proving that he wasn’t exactly a good catch, didn’t lessen her feelings of being betrayed. The undeniable truth that she’d dodged a bullet when her relationship with Jock fell apart didn’t give her much comfort. The further fact that she’d gone on to marry a handsome, rich, successful man also hadn’t induced her to forgive and forget.

  But then what she went through with Richard—his fraud, deceit, demise—taught her something else. There were bigger things to worry about than a fifteen-year-old feud with a childhood friend.

  There was no going back, Emma reminded herself. She was moving forward.

  * * *

  Emma hadn’t worked outside her home and marriage for nine years but boy, had she worked in it. She visited several employment agencies with her résumé, her degree, even details of her experience volunteering at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, working on gigantic fund-raisers, massive decorating projects and entertaining on an enormous scale, but that simply wouldn’t do it after the interview. She felt it was in her best interest to be honest, then immediately doubted her wisdom in that. If they didn’t want to take her on as a client because they feared trusting her, then they didn’t want her because of the potential negative press attention it might draw to them. Clients might leave businesses that employed her because of her notoriety. Of course, they didn’t say that. They said they were sorry, there didn’t seem to be anything available, but if she’d leave a number...

  She had to throw her net wider. She had a list of businesses to apply to that ranged from galleries and stores to convention centers, wineries and even political parties. She stopped explaining that her late husband had been the Richard Compton and instead said that after a bad marriage, she was reentering the workforce. After two weeks with zero success, she went to several smaller employment agencies, not the ones that specialized in decorating, customer service, event planning and those things that were ideal for her. After all, she could always type and file. She could operate a computer. She thought the reception she received was positive...until they looked into her background, which was a simple matter nowadays with a computer search. Even though she wasn’t up-front about her history, they obviously Googled her and she was politely informed there was nothing available that might suit her.

  After four weeks, she was inconsolable.

  “Isn’t this some kind of discrimination?” she asked Lyle.

  “It definitely is,” Lyle said. “But I’m not sure what kind.”

  Just when she thought things couldn’t possibly get bleaker, she took a job in a fast food restaurant. She thought of it as a placeholder until she found a real job. Her boss was nineteen years old. She did everything she was told to do, putting great effort into it. They’d given her an evening shift because she was mature and the restaurant was overrun with high school and college kids. But she had trouble keeping up. She took home a paycheck for five days of shift work at about five hours a day in the amount of $91.75—they deducted FICA, Social Security, state and federal taxes, uniform costs. Her net pay was $3.67 per hour. Her feet and back were killing her.

  She wondered if she’d have to succumb to a disguise and create a new identity.

  * * *

  Emma answered her cell phone knowing it would be Lyle, but praying it would be someone with an offer of a better job. It was Lyle.

  “Do you know a man by the name of Aaron Justice?”

  She laughed. “Unforgettable. A friend of my father’s. An attorney. He must be a hundred years old by now.”

  “More like seventy-five. Apparently one of your sisters said you could be reached through me and he’d love to hear from you. He said maybe you could meet for a coffee or something. He’s been concerned about you. He would like to see you, to assure himself you’re okay.”

  “Now, isn’t that sweet,” she said. “It’s not a trap, is it? He’s not representing someone Richard screwed, is he?”

  “Does that actually happen?” Lyle asked.

  “It hasn’t happened yet, but I’m ready for it.”

  “I have his number,” Lyle said. “Call him, ask him what he wants before you make a date to see him. But really, he’s just a little old man.”

  “Oh, you have no idea,” she said with a laugh. “Aaron is only a little old man on the outside. I think in his day he was a very prominent attorney.”

  It took her a few minutes to work up her courage because it would simply break her heart if Aaron Justice were foe, not friend. Her father, a CPA with a small but busy business, was close to Aaron, and Emma had known him all her life. Not only had they seen him and his family socially, Aaron was the lawyer who took care of John Shay’s will and a few other legal matters, too.

  “I want only to see you, my dear girl,” Aaron said. “I’ve followed your ordeal
in the news and have been concerned. Come and have a cup of coffee with me.”

  The very next afternoon that she didn’t have to work they met in a coffee shop in Santa Rosa, and when she saw him, it brought her to tears. He seemed to have gotten smaller, but his embrace was still strong and she might have held on too tight. He was a very dapper, classy gentleman and of course just seeing him again after eighteen years made her miss her father.

  They sat in a small booth, ordered coffee and held hands across the table as they caught up on the more personal news. His wife had passed away a few years earlier, his grandsons were teenagers and he’d taken them on a few exciting trips. He was relieved to see her looking so well, as beautiful as ever and he was glad she was back. Finally, after about twenty minutes, he asked her if she could talk about it.

  She tried to give him the bullet points; how shocked she was by the facts, stunned to learn she was married to a stranger, how the walls came tumbling down and Richard bailed out. “Once they were satisfied that I had nothing to do with the scheme, I was offered a settlement. My conscience wouldn’t let me take it, of course.”

  “Your father would have been proud of that,” Aaron said.

  “If my father had witnessed that horrific takedown, he would have been mortified.”

  “He was a staunch and conservative man,” Aaron said. “It sounds as if he would have approved of the way you chose to handle it. I hope your father’s trust helped out a bit.”

  She laughed. “What trust, Aaron? Rosemary said there wasn’t much.”

  “I seem to remember it being a tidy sum for his family.”

  “Eighteen years ago, maybe,” Emma said.

  He frowned. “I realize you were only a girl and John hadn’t wanted the balances to be reported to anyone—it might’ve filled the three of you girls with fanciful notions, sent you out car shopping or something. But it was divided—your share and those of your sisters could only be used for health and welfare. Rosemary would have needed it to sustain the family, and there was tuition to pay, of course...”

  Emma was shaking her head. “I borrowed and had a partial scholarship. She might’ve used it for education for Lauren and Anna.”

  “Didn’t Rosemary give you money for college?”

  “She sent me spending money from time to time. Maybe she was afraid to touch the money, saving it for her old age. She ended up marrying a real jerk. They moved to Palm Springs.”

  “Rosemary changed lawyers immediately,” Aaron said. “I have no idea what’s happened in the last eighteen years, but you were due to inherit from your father’s estate—half at the age of thirty and half at thirty-five. It was important to John that you learn to make your own way and earn a living before you came into any money or you’d have blown it on shoes or something.”

  She smiled. “That sounds like him,” she said. “He was so cautious.”

  “It was an irrevocable trust, Emma. As trustee, Rosemary could only use your portion on your needs, not on Anna’s or Lauren’s. Have you ever had an accounting done?” Aaron asked.

  “Of what?”

  “Of your father’s estate. The terms of his will.”

  “Aaron, I was married to one of the richest men in New York. Why would I worry about my father’s will? He had a small office in a small town and lectured me if I threw a pen out before it was writing in invisible ink! I wouldn’t call him a tightwad, but he didn’t let go of a dime before he’d squeezed all the juice out of it.”

  Aaron laughed. “It’s true. And he married a woman who liked nice things...”

  “Well, she didn’t waste any money on me. After my first year of college I admitted defeat with Rosemary and hardly ever came home to visit. And you know what happened when I struck out on my own. I fell in love with and married a thief.”

  “May I make a suggestion? You should ask for an accounting of your father’s estate. There’s still the house. It’s a substantial house.”

  “She said the mortgage alone was killing her,” Emma pointed out.

  “Emma, the house was insured against your father’s death. There was no mortgage. I still have a small practice, mostly just for old clients and friends. If I were your attorney, I could look into this.”

  She started to laugh. “Oh, Aaron, you are so sweet. I can’t afford an attorney! I’m working at a fast food restaurant! Besides, if there turned out to be something left of his estate after all these years, would I have to fight for it? Because I can’t even consider going to court. Not ever again.”

  “Here’s what would happen. I would see her lawyer or accountant, petition for an accounting of the proceeds of the estate on your behalf, and if there turned out to be something left for you, you’d have to sue. It usually doesn’t go that far unless there are millions at stake. If it’s a small amount, the trustee is usually happy to settle to save money. And if there is anything, I won’t charge a fee of any kind until you can afford it. It wouldn’t be a contingency or percentage, just my usual fee. Which,” he said, laughing at himself, “is a steal.”

  “Well, I won’t be suing anyone, that’s for sure. I won’t even ask for anything from her—she hates me and at this point the feeling is mutual. I’m starting over. But you are kind and I appreciate your generosity.”

  “Let’s find out, Emma. There was once some money involved. And your father’s house. That was a rich house, wasn’t it? Everyone envied it.”

  “He built it with my mother,” she said. “He never said but I think they hoped to have a few children.” She shook her head. “Even the idea of money makes me sick. I live in two rooms. I pinch my pennies in a way that would make John Shay so proud. And I can’t bear the idea of owing you money for services that you’re really doing as a favor.”

  “If it turns out there’s nothing there or if you choose not to pursue the recovery of it, my fee will be zero.”

  Her eyes got a little round. “Why, Aaron, I think you wouldn’t mind catching Rosemary with her hand in the cookie jar!”

  “You found me out,” he said. “John was such a gentle man. She seemed to suck the life out of him.”

  “I think he married Rosemary to have help with me,” she said. “It must have been so hard for him. And everyone who knew my mother loved her. I don’t think people even like Rosemary. She’s a hard woman.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “John was a good friend. He was careful with his will. It would take months to get an answer, Emma. Months before you have to decide how to proceed. For your peace of mind, I’d be happy to look into this for you.”

  She shrugged. “Why not? What can it hurt? I won’t get my hopes up. If Rosemary was involved, I’m sure she’s had a real party spending it. She quit working the week my dad died.”

  “Then I have something important to do and it makes me so happy to do it for you.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you came home, Emma.”

  * * *

  Lyle was finishing up for the day, standing at the counter while he looked at the orders for Saturday delivery. In August sales started picking up again after summer. In summer there weren’t any floral holidays and people had their own blooms. Summer in Sonoma County was pure heaven.

  The door to the shop opened and he smiled to see Riley Kerrigan come in. Took her long enough, he thought. He hadn’t seen her in at least a couple of months. She looked fantastic, as usual. You’d never guess by looking at her that she owned a domestic and industrial cleaning service. She looked more like a bank executive or high-powered attorney. After all her years of secondhand clothes followed by scrimping to get by and build her business, Riley was making up for lost time in the wardrobe category.

  “Hi,” she said. “I thought I might catch you before you left for the day. How’s it going?”

  “It’s all good. How’s everything at Happy Housekeeping?” he asked, kno
wing full well that was not the name of her business.

  “Happy, happy, happy. So. Is she back?”

  He nodded. “Over a month now,” he said. “Tell me something—did it take willpower to wait this long to ask?”

  “I didn’t expect her to call, if that’s what you’re getting at. How is she?” Riley asked.

  “Doing very well, in spite of everything.”

  Riley’s smile was very small. “Emma has a way of bouncing back.”

  “If she can bounce back from this, she’s a superhero. She stayed in that apartment alone, slept on a cot, even though her husband’s blood was all over his study. Because no one offered her a guest room, not even the legal team who were so well paid. And she wasn’t safe in a hotel—too many victims of Richard’s fraud threatened her. I offered to go out there but she wouldn’t have it—she didn’t want me in jeopardy. She made the drive to California by herself—she said she needed the time alone and away. Her husband has been dead a few months. It took her a month here to find a bad job. She says she’s holding up very well. I’m amazed she’s even standing.”

  “I’m sorry she’s going through this, but she wouldn’t want my sympathy or my help. If you think of anything I can do without, you know, getting involved, let me know.”

  “Sure,” he said. “She says she’s over it, by the way. Your feud.”

  “Me, too,” Riley said. “But still...”

  “She said that, too.”

  Riley smiled at her dear friend. They’d been the three musketeers in high school—Emma, Lyle and Riley. She gave a quiet laugh and shook her head. “Can I buy the man in the middle a drink?” she asked.

  “By all means,” Lyle said. “I think she’s forgiven you by now.”

  “Good to know. I still hate her, but I’m not mad at her anymore.”

  “Oh, great.” He started turning off lights. “Let’s go drink.”

  * * *

  Riley stopped by the grocery after a glass of wine with Lyle. They’d been friends for a long time. Usually threesomes don’t work very well, but in this case, Lyle being a guy and all, there was no issue. At least not until Emma and Riley had their epic breakup. Then Lyle was stuck in the middle, trying not to take sides. He’d managed to remain loyal to both women for sixteen years.