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But no criminal avoided the law forever.
"The house, the cars," Connor went on. "Maybe it is time for Charlie to think about something legitimate to explain his ability to have these things."
Charlie had the money cleaned, always had.
But that was clearly no longer enough.
And since I was fully committed to being a wife and mother, there was genuinely no way for us to explain our income.
I nodded at that. "Is there a timeframe for this?"
"I would suggest within the next year. There is some curiosity among a detective or two, but they have files stacked on their desks that need their attention more. But if he keeps rising, they will no longer be able to overlook him."
"Thank you," I said, words heavy with genuine gratitude. "Connor, can I ask you something?"
"Always."
"Why are you telling me this?"
His smile was sweet, almost a little dreamy. "For nostalgia's sake. Because I know that Charlie is a good man."
"How do you know that?" I asked, shaking my head.
"Because you love him," he told me, giving me another smile, casting one last glance at the boys, then walking away as suddenly as he had arrived."It's been on my mind too," Charlie told me later as the boys were in the backyard playing in a giant mud puddle that I didn't think to deny them since it was shower night anyway. "I mean, tax evasion was what brought down Al Capone after all the shit he got away with. If we want to survive, we need to have something legit."
"Can we afford it?" I asked, cringing a bit inwardly at asking such a question. It made me sound like one of those wives. The ones who let their husbands control everything, who had no idea what the financial situation was. I did, of course, know exactly what was in the bank account. And what was secured away in our shed, under a floorboard in the bathroom closet, in a pair of old rain boots in the basement.
I knew what we had to spend for life stuff.
But not so much what we had in the business. Because that number changed daily depending on who made good, or who needed a bigger loan. Charlie had a good mind for the numbers, for the weights and measures of it all. Me, it honestly made my head spin to try to work it all out.
"If we don't get too ambitious, yeah. Start small, build it up."
"Sounds like a good plan."
I liked the idea of legit, of having another safety net. Of having less suspicion in our direction.
For Charlie.
For me.
But especially for the boys.
"Luckily, almost every building in town is for sale," I said, giving him a smile.
The main area of Navesink Bank was a bit of an eyesore still, most of the stores and restaurants closed years ago, and no one seemed to have the liquid cash to start something new.
It meant that shopping often took me a couple towns over to get everything I needed, which had always been a pain. But now, well, I was looking at it like a blessing. Rent would be ridiculously low, demand from locals would be high.
"Know what I was thinking?" Charlie asked, head ducked to the side slightly.
"Not a clue," I admitted, watching as he rose from his chair, always doing so with this rugged masculine grace that never ceased to get to me. Especially with pregnancy hormones making me all kinds of wanton.
"What about a bar?" he asked. "It was always my old man's dream. And you know the business inside and out. The town desperately needs a decent watering hole. Could be a good thing."
"No," I said, letting his face fall slightly before wrapping my arms around him. "It could be a great thing," I specified, watching his eyes light up before he pressed his forehead to mine sweetly, tickling my nose with his.
Then the screen door cracked against the wall just a split second before a little - but powerful - body slammed into us both from the side, wrapping arms around us to join in the hug. And smear mud on us from thigh-level and down.
A mess.
That was what our life often was.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.Charlie - 7 yearsWe rarely had a night away from the kids.
Babysitters weren't hard to find per se, but it was rare you could find someone who was willing to take care of five soon-to-be juvenile delinquents.
So we didn't have one.
We had four teenage girls at our house wrangling the boys, just to have a couple hours away.
"You don't think it's too dark?" I asked, watching Helen walk around the space, heels clicking as she went.
Shane had just started sleeping through the night a couple weeks before, taking her out of her newborn-mama uniform of old sweats that never matched, pulled up hair, and the only adornment on her face being under eye circles to a woman who took thirty minutes to herself every morning to pamper while I sat with the boys over their breakfast.
