"Hey, what's so funny, ladies." Mike sidled up to the bar, and today his father, Big Mike, joined him. He owned the place, and we all actually liked him.
Sasha laughed again, a little less genuine. "I was just telling Lisa about a bunch of restaurant workers in LA who won a big class-action sexual harassment suit against their boss." She laughed again, and I joined in, but the look on Mike's face meant I didn't have to pretend. He'd looked like he'd just seen a ghost.
"It's funny because he'd harassed them for years, but he didn't realize that they documented everything, including some recordings. Finally, they'd had enough andbam!He’s out of a job and millions of dollars.”
"Well," Big Mike said. "It sounds like that fella got what he deserved. We have a zero-tolerance policy for that kind of business. You ladies experience anything like that, you tell Mike here." He clapped his son on the back, and he jumped. "And we'll take care of it immediately. Right, son."
Mike bobbed his head, awkwardly.
"Sure thing." Sasha turned to Mike. "If we discover any creeps that work here harassing the staff, we will let you know." She smiled her half-smile and fluttered her eyelashes again.
The two men turned in the direction of the office and walked away. I turned to Sasha.
“If I ever change my mind about getting married again, would you do me the honor?”
"Hell no." She laughed. "You eat too much rabbit food and I'm already taken."
cole
seven
Lisa just left.I watched her descend the steps from my living room window, and as she turned in the direction of her apartment, she glanced up and our eyes met.
Shit. Busted.
Slamming the curtains shut or ducking out of sight would have been tough to explain, so I raised my hand and gave her an awkward wave. The tiniest smile quirked the corners of her mouth as she returned the gesture. I had to get my shit together and remember what this was. Lisa was a neighbor, just helping another neighbor.
CJ has slept better in the last few days. He was finally getting used to me, and we, well, mostly Lisa, figured out the whole teething thing. She was also teaching me how to sleep train CJ, which I didn't know was a thing, but after a couple of rough nights, he was sleeping longer and longer in his crib.
Having Lisa around felt natural. I was so grateful for her help though I didn't understand her motives. She definitely wasn't trying to use my baby brother to get close to me—not that I would've minded, but we haven't come close to picking up where we left off the first night. And every time the conversation veered toward something personal, she shut it down, and as soon as CJ was asleep, she left.
If I said my ego wasn't a little bruised, I'd be lying. I was used to getting my share of attention from women, and having the world's tiniest wingman in tow only took things to the next level. Too bad I only ended up comparing them to Lisa, and the idea of any sort of romantic relationship with all of this shit I had going on made me even more exhausted than I already was.
I was due to go back to work next week. Technically, I was entitled to six weeks of paternity leave, but after I found out that HC had a daycare, I opted to go back after three weeks. CJ would be two floors down, and I couldn't miss too much more time at the office. A large part of being a first-year at a firm like HC is being around as much as possible. I have to know everything that's going on and grab every opportunity I could. I couldn't do any of those things from home, and to keep CJ flush with grapes, puffs, and lately, baby carrots, I had to have a job.
After I dragged myself away from the window, my attention shifted to the thick yellow envelope on the table in my foyer. It was from the coroner’s office in Missouri. I assumed it was Crystal’s death certificate, the accident report, and the results of her toxicology screenings.
I poured myself half a shot of Hennessy, figuring it was safe because the baby monitor had been silent for the last hour, and settled onto my couch. I sliced the envelope open and slid the contents onto my coffee table. The toxicology report held the answer to my most burning question, so I started there.
Clean.
She was completely clean.
There wasn't a trace of drugs or alcohol in her system. Relief flooded through me but was soon replaced by guilt. I'd expected her to be high. I'd expected her to be doing something thoughtless and reckless, but she hadn't. She cleaned herself up and had a child. A child whose mother was there for him and not battling her own demons. She'd conditioned me to assume the worst of her, and now I didn't know what to think. Who was this woman in the coroner's report?
I moved on to the accident report. Crystal was driving a late model Chevy Impala registered to Amy Smith, her strange alias. It was a big car for her and almost new. So far, I hadn't found any evidence of her having any sort of job. So where the hell did she get money for a new car, and why that one? It was cherry red, her favorite color, and I imagined her matching her lipstick to the paint job every time she drove it. The thought stabbed a sharp pang through my heart. I took a small sip from my glass and let the cognac burn its way down my throat until the ache in my chest softened before I picked up the file again.
There were photos of the car wrapped around a tree. She'd hit it head-on, which explained the bruise on her forehead. There were more photos of the scene and a few from the interior of the car. I flipped through the pictures, and my heart stopped when I came to photos of Crystal's body. It was the same Crystal from the gurney, pale and bruised, but she was fully nude with a large "Y"-shaped surgical scar across her chest and torso. There was a long bruise across her shoulder, and her chest, which I assumed, was from the seat belt. Something about it struck me as odd, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Pieces of the puzzle rattled around in my brain, but between the sleep deprivation, the Hennessy, and the shock of seeing Crystal's body again when I wasn't entirely prepared, was making it hard to focus.
I dropped the file and picked up her death certificate. The cause of death pretty much reiterated what Detective Tan told Mom and me at the coroner's office in conjunction with the accident report. Crystal was the only passenger in a single-vehicle collision and was pronounced dead at the scene. Something about it didn't seem right. I was obviously tired, tipsy, and grasping at straws. I shuffled the papers into a stack and picked up the envelope to stuff them back into it when a business card slid out. It was another one of Detective Tan's cards. I picked it up and flipped it over. On the back was another phone number written in blue pen with a message that read, "Call me if you have any questions about your mother's case." The word "questions" was underlined. This wasn't a thread I could pull tonight. It was almost three in the morning, and if I was lucky, I could squeeze in four hours of sleep before CJ woke up screaming for a meal that I would later find myself squeegeeing off of the walls.
“Oh. My. God. Is this him?”Judy squealed and ran around the reception desk.
I could’ve just dropped CJ off at the daycare before I made my coffee deliveries, but I couldn’t resist the opportunity to show him off at work.
"He is so cute!" She cooed at him and tickled his belly. As if on cue, my wingman flashed the cutest gummiest grin, and his gaggle of admirers grew considerably.
"Hey, Judy." I grinned. "Would you mind keeping an eye on him while I deliver the rest of these?"
