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Eventually, he releases us. “I’m so sorry the decisions your mother and I made are causing you such turmoil.”
“I know you are, both of you.” I squeeze their hands. “There’s nothing I can do to stop Gwendolyn from exposing you.”
“We’ve always been prepared to tell the truth, Wren. We should have done it a long time ago,” my dad says.
“Gwendolyn will turn it into a scandal.”
My mom’s expression goes icy. “Not if I have anything to say about it. She’s sorely mistaken if she thinks she can take advantage of you, or anyone in this family.”
“She can only turn it into a scandal if she’s the one doing the exposing. I don’t have anything to hide, Wren. I can talk to my publicity team and find a gentle way to address this publicly. Gwendolyn can’t blackmail you if she doesn’t have anything to hold over your head.”
In all the time I’ve known about the affair and where I came from, I never really looked at it through my mother’s eyes, maybe because I’d found out as a teen when my whole world revolved only around me and how things impacted me. I’d blamed her for it, was ashamed of her and for her, and myself. But learning this, knowing that I’m wanted and always have been, regardless of how I came to be, helps soothe away some of the hurt I’ve carried in my heart all these years.
Now, I understand better my father’s reason’s for protecting her, us. It’s never been about him or his career; it’s always been about keeping us safe from the media showdown. They could rip us apart, and my parents never wanted to put me under such scrutiny. “Does this mean you’re going to make a statement?”
“Your mother and I will do whatever it takes to make sure you’re not the one caught in the middle of other people’s bad decisions, or forced to make choices you’ll regret.”CHAPTER 22TAKE A MOTHER DOWNLINCOLNBy ten, I’m about ready to pack it in and go on a mission in search of Wren. My mother is absent from the office, G-Mom just returned from her cruise so I’ve yet to see her or speak with her, and last I heard, Armstrong missed another putt in his office game of golf and broke his computer monitor. Again.
And still nothing from Wren.
I’ve gotten all of absolutely nothing done this morning, apart from looking through more financial files, in search of something, anything that will give me some answers as to what my father was hiding and why my mother is so intent on keeping it that way. Every time I find a large withdrawal from my father’s business account, I underline it and set it aside, prepared to cross-reference until I find something that might get me off this hamster wheel.
My cell rings as I find yet another transfer of funds in excess of twenty-five thousand dollars. I glance at the screen, spit the highlighter out from between my teeth, and slam my thumb down on the answer button so hard that my phone shoots off my desk and clatters to the floor.
“Hold on.” I push out of my chair and it hits the wall behind me with a loud thud as I scramble around my desk. “I dropped my phone. I’m here.” I snatch it up, relieved the screen hasn’t spiderwebbed, and bring it to my ear. “Wren? Are you okay? Are you sick? Do you need anything?” Wow. My calm and collected needs some work.
“It’s me. I’m … okay. Are you at the office?” Her voice sounds hoarse, like maybe she has a sore throat.
“Yeah. Yes. I’m at the office. Are you at home? Can I bring you anything? Soup? Tea? Ginger ale?”
“I’m … no. I don’t need anything, and I’m not at home.”
“Did you go to the doctor’s? Your voice doesn’t sound great. You should’ve called. I would’ve taken you.”
She clears her throat. “I’m not at the doctor’s. You don’t have any meetings this afternoon, do you? I didn’t schedule anything for you.”
“No. Nothing. Are you coming in?” Her tone ramps up my nerves.
“No. Um, but I think we need to talk.”
“Okay. Sure. Shoot.”
“Not over the phone. What time do you think you’re going to leave work? Maybe I could come over, then?”
“I can leave right now. I can be at my place in twenty, or more like half an hour, depending on traffic.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you there.”
“Are you okay?” I start packing up my things, shoving them into my messenger bag. “You really don’t sound okay.”
“I’m—” She hiccups. “No. Not really. I’ll explain when I see you.”
“You’re worrying me a lot, Wren.”
“I know, and I’m sorry, but it’s really not a phone conversation.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I end the call, shove the file folders I was going through into my messenger bag, and bust my ass to the elevator.
