“Your boss won’t mind? Maintenance infrastructure?”
“Er, part of it is to make sure everyone’s belongings are returned to them.” I stare at her, summoning a smile and willing her to believe me.
She adjusts the box in her hold as she falls into step with me. I wonder if she knows who I am now or if she didn’t even know what she was looking at.
I want to trust her. But I don’t know if it’s simply because of her pretty face and fun personality, or if it’s something more.
“I think they might be in the bottom of this box. I brought them today in case I saw you. We must have gotten mixed up when we bumped into each other on the stairs.”
She doesn’t say another word about the papers. Either she hasn’t figured out who I am, or she doesn’t care.
“I’ll get it,” I tell her as we reach the security gate.
I pull back the bar and let her step through. She smiles at the security guard at the desk. Mr. New Guy gives her a curt nod.
“Did you park in the garage across the street?” she asks as we begin walking across the parking lot.
“No, I’m right here.”
Her eyes widen as I point to the BMW to our left. It’s not even my car. It’s Grandpa’s that I’ve been using, because driving my work truck around town means I can’t fit in any parking spaces.
“If I’d known being part of maintenance guaranteed a front-row parking place, I would have switched careers ages ago.”
I smile and unlock the doors.
She sets her box on top of my car and digs around until she pulls out a manila envelope. “I put them all in here to avoid losing anything. I didn’t want any more mix-ups.”
She hands it to me, and I wonder how many pages she’s read.
“Are you a forger?” she asks.
The question catches me off guard. “Yes.”
It seems like a better explanation than the truth.
“You’ll have to get rid of your honest face. No one will believe you’re any good if you admit to it right away.”
My phone rings, and after glancing at the caller ID, I know I can’t ignore it, not even for a minute.
“Hello?”
“It’s Mary.” The voice is somber, brittle.
I suck in a breath and prepare for the worst. It’s the call that I’ve known is coming.
“You need to get here right away. He’s probably not going to last until tonight.”
Thank goodness he’s still alive. Maybe I’ll be able to say goodbye.
But then Mary continues, “He wants you to bring your fiancée so that he can meet her.”
I try to form words as I rest a hand on the hood of the car. Magnolia’s staring at me, concern on her face.
“Nash”—the voice in my ear is loud—“did you hear me? He wants to meet your fiancée.”
“Sorry. I checked out there for a minute. What was that?”
“He wants to see your fiancée before he passes,” Mary says for a third time. “Is there any way she can make it here? In time? It’s his dying wish to know you’ll be happy.”
