"Really?" Her voice was small, hopeful.
"Really," I confirmed. "Why don't we talk more about this tonight with Uncle Drew? He's coming home early from his trip."
She nodded, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips. "Okay."
The bell above the door jingled again, saving us from the emotional tsunami that was threatening to overtake us both. It was Cat, carrying a tray of what smelled like Jenna's famous honey lavender scones.
"I come bearing carbs," she announced, setting the tray on the counter. "Holly, Jenna said you're helping her after the Wilson bridal shower today? These are the test batch she asked me to take around town to collect feedback. Let me know what you think."
Holly grabbed one eagerly, taking a massive bite. "Oh my gosh," she mumbled through crumbs. "These are incredible."
Cat beamed. "Great! She's ordered three dozen for today."
While Holly was distracted by the pastry, Cat sidled up to me. "How are you doing?" she asked quietly.
"Fine," I replied automatically.
"Elyse." Her tone carried a warning.
I sighed. "I'm actually doing okay. Just focusing on Holly and the store. Drew's coming home tonight."
"Good," she said, studying my face. "You're not...?"
"No," I said firmly. "No more detective work."
The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. I hadn't actually decided what to do about the Facebook message yet.
"I'm glad to hear it," Cat said, seemingly satisfied. "Listen, I've got to run, but Sarah wanted me to remind you about bookclub at her place on Thursday. And Allison wants to know if Holly can babysit Noah on Friday."
"I'll check with Holly about Friday," I said, glancing over at my niece, who was now on her second scone. "And I'll tell Sarah we'll be there Thursday."
After Cat left, Holly helped me straighten up the fiction section, and then it was time for her to head to Jenna's. I watched her bounce out the door, thinking about how much she'd come to feel like my own daughter in the short time she'd been with us. The thought of officially adopting her filled me with a joy I hadn't expected.
Once I was alone, I pulled out my phone and opened Facebook. The message was still there, waiting for a response. I tapped on it and read the full text:
I've heard you help women like me. My husband works late three nights a week but comes home smelling like perfume. He says it's from the receptionist who hugs everyone, but I found hotel receipts in his car. We have three kids. I can't just leave, but I need to know the truth. Can you help me?
My thumb hovered over the reply button. I thought about Drew's worried face, about Holly asking if we'd adopt her, about the confrontation that had nearly happened at Frenchy's the other day.
Then I thought about what my life would have been like if I'd known the truth about Frank sooner.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I typed a response:
I can help, but this will be my last case. When and where does he say he's working late?
I hit send before I could change my mind.
My phone dinged almost immediately with her response:
Thank you! He's supposedly working late tomorrow night at the office park on Gulf Boulevard. Says he'll be there until at least ten p.m.
Tomorrow night. Drew would be home, but it was our regular date night. We usually went to dinner at seven and were home by nine.
An idea began to form. What if I could do both? Help this woman AND have a date night with Drew? He'd never have to know about my little detour after dinner.
I quickly typed back:
I'll check it out. Send me a photo of him and the address. I'll be in touch.
