“They’re claiming you and Dad ran a money laundering and counterfeiting scheme out of the restaurant.”
“Why would I do that?” she cried, as if I’d come up with these charges on my own. “Howwould I do that?”
“I don’t have those answers for you,” I said. “But you’re okay? How are you surviving without any money?”
“Babysitting,” she replied simply. As if it was the most obvious answer in this very logical shit circus. “I ran into an American couple outside the airport and they were headed to this island. They offered to pay cash if I could look after their little boy and not tell anyone about their business. I’m sure they didn’t mean I couldn’t tell you. Not that I know what they’re doing anyway. It’s all computers and busy things like that. No matter. I have plenty of money but I can’t get a new phone without a credit card so—”
“What do you mean, not tell anyone about their business?”
“Oh, I don’t know. They’re just trying to be anonymous, I think. Not drawing too much attention to themselves.”
Awesome.That was just awesome. I was sleeping on the bottom bunk in my childhood bedroom and she was babysitting for people who were paying in cash and trying to stay off the radar. Couldn’t get any better than that.
“This trouble with the restaurant will sort itself out,” she said with a confidence I didn’t share. “Just give it time.”
“And until then?”
“I’ll hang out here. Everything will be okay. Oh, and make sure Parker gets to school on time!”
I couldn’t help myself from asking, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She huffed out a laugh. “Of course I’m okay! I’ll make my way home, you’ll see, and everything will be back to normal.”
My mother always landed on her feet. She had countless stories about sticky situations working out in her favor or circumstances changing at the last minute. But I believed that had more to do with the people around her cushioning those landings than anything else. My mother didn’t possess a magical supply of safety nets and, the last time I’d checked, she wasn’t a cat.
“I hope you’re right,” I said. “I should let you go. If the feds haven’t tracked your location from this call yet, they’ll have it soon.”
“Okay, okay. Give Parks a big squeeze for me and tell Dad I miss him something fierce. Thanks so much for taking care of everyone, Beck.”
The call cut out before I could respond, and that was a good thing. I didn’t know what I’d say if I had to acknowledge that I was the one who dropped everything to solve all the family problems every damn time. I’d been doing it for as long as I could remember and now it was costing meeverything. I’d left my home in Singapore, I’d put my entire career on hold, I’d left every shred of the life I’d built away from this town.
And it was all because I’d thought I could leave. I’d thought I could snag the best general manager in the restaurant business and take a job in London—then Geneva, Zurich, Monte Carlo, Dubai, Tokyo, and most recently Singapore—and my great-uncle’s legacy would live on exactly as he’d intended. I’d thought my years of parenting my parents were over. And yet here I was, learning my lesson the hardest way possible.
Instead of dwelling on that, I hauled myself into the shower. A call from my mother was enough to deflate the remnants of that dream, though being alone with warm water beating on my shoulders brought it all back. The feel of her hands, the slide of her hair between my fingers. She smelled like a garden, and if I held myself quiet and steady, I could pretend she was a mystery to me. A fantasy cooked up by the stray bits of my subconscious. A nameless, faceless manifestation of stress and proximity, and it hadnothingto do with her. Yet I couldn’t resist brushing all that long, dark hair away from her face and cupping her jaw while she took me—
“Hey, dickbag.” The door banged against the wall as Parker barged in. “Do me a favor and don’t park behind me anymore. If you’re going to yell at me to wake up and tell me that getting to school on time is the name of the game, you can’t add obstacles to the course.”
I wasn’t getting that dream back again. Not the way I wanted it. That was probably for the best, all things considered. Wanting it didn’t mean I was allowed to have it. And Ireallywasn’t allowed to want it.
I cranked the water to cold and groaned as the change hit me. It was going to be a rough day. “No problem,” I said. “Now get the hell out.”
* * *
I was halfwaythrough a protein shake and an endless scroll of my email when Reyna, my attorney’s legal assistant, called. Reyna had no time for nonsense such as small talk or pleasantries, which was refreshing since her boss seemed intent on dragging every last conversation into a full billable hour every time he called.
“All right, Mr. Loew,” she started, her thick Bronx accent booming in my ear. “I researched the title history for the property you requested. If you still want to go forward with writing up an offer, I can get that submitted to the owner today.”
“Do it,” I said between sips. It was a dick move. I knew that when I sent Reyna to investigate the property and I knew it now. But I needed to regain some control. I couldn’t turn around without coming face-to-face with a new layer of unbelievable and crazy, and all I could do was take a machete to the chaos. At least now I’d always be able to fix the loose stones and whatever the hell else was wrong with the place before they turned into serious problems. “Offer ten percent over fair market value.”
“Figured as much.” I could hear her typing. “Escalating to fifteen if they counter?”
“Fifteen, but I’ll go as high as twenty if they’re aggressive.” Reyna murmured in agreement, still typing. “Are you sure I can’t hire you away from Adrian? I’m much easier to work for.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” she said.
“Better hours,” I added. “Work from home, if you’re into that.”
“The devil you know and all,” she replied. “Okay. Very good. I’ll call you as soon as I have an update.”
