At the moment, however, the only man I hoped to find was my biological father, and I wasn’t having any luck with that. I’d searched through all of Mom’s notebooks without finding any sign of his address. I still needed to sort and clean the closets and basement. Maybe I’d find another clue to his whereabouts in one of those locations. I’d found my share of half-empty liquor bottles in a dozen places they didn’t belong; why not the address of my biological father in France?
The moment my divorce was final, and I had the freedom to use my half of the marital money as I pleased, I’d take a trip to the area of France Mom visited during college. If I happened across Sébastien Allard while I basked in the trip of the lifetime, all the better.
At the grocery store I piled a shopping basket high with everything I needed. A customer hosting a fiftieth wedding anniversary party had requested fresh, fruity, fun desserts. I had at least a dozen ideas for that event. Bourbon was the theme for the second event, a retirement dinner.
To say I couldn’t wait to get started was a wild understatement. I made my way to the checkout with glee.
“Welcome back!” the cashier, whose name was Kathy, called upon my approach. “Baking again already?”
Kathy and I became acquainted during my first visit, when I wiped out her baking aisle and claimed it was for a friend’s wedding reception. She’d made the sign of the cross over her chest and told me she wouldn’t marry again for twelve flying monkeys. I didn’t quite understand the expression, but I felt the gist of it in my marrow. We’d bonded over our youthful naivete and colossally failed marriages.
“Trying some new recipes,” I said.
She snapped bright-green gum as I unpacked the basket. “What are you making this time?” She ran the items over her scanner and worked her lips into a grin.
“I haven’t decided,” I admitted. “But I’m leaning toward truffles, bacon brittle, and shortcakes. I have a new bottle of Maker’s Mark at home and want to make the most of it.” The high-quality whiskey-infused treats were sure to be a hit at the retirement party.
She sighed wistfully. “Can’t go wrong with any of that. I’ll have to let you know what they serve at my brother-in-law’s house this weekend. He’s retiring, and originally from Kentucky, so my sister themed the whole party around bourbon.”
I stilled, feeling as if I’d stepped on a proverbial land mine. “Oh, yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.” She bagged the last of my items and checked her screen.
I willed my face not to be as red as it felt. “Sounds like fun.”
“I’m sure it will be,” Kathy agreed. “Tammy throws one hell of a shindig, but she can’t bake worth a dime. Knowing her, she’ll put a bunch of store-bought cupcakes on one of her cookie trays again and tell everyone she worked all day on them. We’ll be forced to pretend that we don’t know the truth. Good manners and all that.”
“Of course.” My stomach knotted as I quickly reimagined my desserts for that event.
“Seventy-three twelve,” she said.
I opened my wallet and spotted four twenties I’d received for an order of breakfast pastries. Paying cash was ideal, but it would leaveme with less than ten dollars for lunch. “Let’s do credit this time,” I said, passing her my black card. If Robert scrutinized every charge and transaction, he wouldn’t think much of a trip to a local grocer. He might, on the other hand, accuse me of wasteful spending if I charged another take-out order.
Kathy ran the card, and I mentally kicked myself for caring what Robert thought. I still needed to break my habit of managing his moods and navigating his nonsense.
Kathy’s face pinched, and she returned the card. “Sorry, hon. It’s declining.”
I matched her pained expression. “What?”
“I tried it twice,” she said, her Southern drawl softening the words. “Do you have another card?”
“That one doesn’t have a limit,” I told her. Robert had bragged about that fact at length, proud of himself for the credit approval. He used it everywhere we went, hoping others recognized it, and his importance by proxy.
A man got in line behind me, and Kathy raised a smile to him, before returning her patient eyes to me. “What do you want to do?”
I returned the card to my purse and placed my twenties into her hand. “This will cover it.” I couldn’t bring myself to try another card with a spectator. The only thing worse than Kathy seeing two cards declined would be sharing the experience with a complete stranger.
She finished the sale and tucked my receipt into the bag. Then she gave me too much change. “I gave you my employee discount,” she whispered. “I divorced a rich son of a bitch once too.”
My eyes misted as I reached for the bag. She recognized the fancy credit card. Wouldn’t Robert be proud. “Thank you,” I said, rushing to leave the scene of my humiliation.
“Don’t mention it,” she called after me. “Let me know how those truffles turn out!”
I climbed into my SUV like it was a getaway car, locked the doors, and screamed.
Chapter Fourteen
I called the credit card company when I got home, but they wouldn’t give me any information. I was merely an authorized user on Robert’s account. The representative suggested I reach out to him.
