“Any time.”
She turned to leave.I don’t need to be rescued. I can take care of myself, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
Chapter Seven
NATALIE WALKEDout to the farthest edge of the parking lot, where she’d parked the Mustang that had been Jeremy’s prized possession. If it got scratched, she’d never forgive herself. And maybe he wasn’t here anymore, but she still felt just as nervous around it as she had when he was. It wasn’t worth much, but Jeremy had cherished that car.
She’d hated to take the Mustang out of storage, but it was one of the few things Marc had no access to, and thank goodness for that.
The whole drive back to Sheila’s house, she thought about Detective Fellowes’s dinner invitation.
He’d asked her to call him by his first name a hundred times. If she had from the beginning, would she have perhaps felt inclined to have dinner with him now?
Randy.
He seemed like such a nice guy, but it was weird with him knowing all about this embarrassing mess with Marc.
Why would he want to take me to dinner?
Friends had rolled her status back to when she’d become a widow, making her relationship with Marc just a blip on theirradar—like Marc had never happened. If only she could allow herself to forget that easily.
Jeremy had worked hard to make sure she was taken care of if anything ever happened to him, leaving her in a comfortable position. He’d planned it so well, except for the part where she put it all at risk.
Knowing she’d lost all he’d worked so hard for hurt the most.
She twisted the old-school knob on the radio to silence it.
Although all the evidence proved that she’d been scammed, she still wanted so desperately for there to be another explanation when they finally found Marc. She cursed herself for feeling that way.
With Marc gone, she missed Jeremy even more—maybe because Jeremy’s honesty and trust had always been undeniable. Perhaps she’d never quit missing that. It had just been swept to the side in the flurry of travel, parties, and fancy dinners while Marc schmoozed her.
Randy called it love bombing. It has a name. A stage in a process.
She drove back to Sheila’s house. Her home away from home.
Funny how things had flip-flopped. Originally, Natalie’s plan after Cancún had been to help Sheila move on from her divorce, only Sheila had had to rescue Natalie instead. Coming to the hospital. Insisting she come stay at her house, and not even asking any questions for weeks.
True friends were irreplaceable, and she was so thankful that Sheila hadn’t given her a choice except to move in with her.
The timing hadn’t been horrible. They’d been each other’s support system, and Natalie was glad she’d been there for Sheila following the complicated division of property withDan. Sheila was keeping the house, and she’d let Dan keep the lake cottage and big toys he loved more than he’d ever loved Sheila.
It was time for both of them to move on now.
Her mind wandered, trying to picture a new beginning.
Forgiveness.She knew she had to forgive Swindell to put it behind her. Like most investments, there’s a risk. She should’ve just taken the whole wad of money that she put on that house with Swindell and instead gone to Vegas. At least that would’ve been a fantastic story to tell.
Natalie tried to picture herself in one of those cute little condos with a nice view of the James River with everything you need in walking distance. Some of them even had garages, so she could park the Mustang and walk most of the time. Plus, furnishing a little condo would be much easier since she was starting from scratch.
She could work from anywhere, though. It didn’t even have to be around here, and properties on the outskirts of town would definitely be more affordable. When Sheila thought Dan would fight her for the house, they’d looked at a few really nice places that weren’t all that far from here.
Maybe a small house with a yard. She could even plant flowers. She loved fresh flowers. One of her guilty pleasures was treating herself to a fresh bouquet each week, just like Jeremy had done for her when he was alive.
“Because it’s Tuesday,” he’d say. The memory still made her heart flutter.
She sat a little taller in the red leather seat of the Mustang.
It’s not impossible. It might be a little tight until I get back to work, but I can totally do this.
