Page 42 of Studfinder

“That’s absurd. This isn’t . . . Backdraft.” She snorts in that manner she does as she mentions an old movie where this same action occurred in fictional terms.

“It’s the same thing you accused of me,” I remind her, recalling how she seemed to agree with the judgment that I had a reason to start a fire, causing potential harm to fellow firepersons, destroying any possibility to retain my job. Rita has the wherewithal to look chagrined for a moment.

“None of it mattered. I couldn’t prove my own innocence because the investigation wouldn’t allow me to investigate my case. My career was ruined.”

“Ruined,” Rita repeats, the word choking her as it did the first time she repeated it.

“I’m sorry again for your loss, Rita. I’m truly sorry. I didn’t know . . . your fiancé . . . but Rory did, and he said he had the highest respect for him. I think all the kids did.” Despite the school being in a state of disrepair and the summer break allowing students time away, the funeral attendance was something never seen before. Kids from five communities gathered to give their condolences and pay their respects. My stomach flips as I imagine Rita in the receiving line and eventually hovering at the grave site.

“You ruined everything for me,” Rita states incredulously, keeping her voice low.

“Rita, I just explained—” Her hand in the air stops my speech.

“My fiancé was taken from me, but I’d come to terms with that loss a long time ago. A reckless act resulted in his death. I’m not talking about Ian. I’m talking about the fact that after years of recovery and counseling to adjust to his loss, I’d finally found myself in a good place. I dedicate myself to helping others through AA and Building Buddies. I have my practice. I refurbished my parents’ home, and then I met you. You ruined me, not because of what you did or didn’t do in the past, but because of what we did together. I gave myself to you, and it felt so different. Even . . . more than what I had with Ian.” Rita chokes around the admission, and her eyes blink rapidly.

“You didn’t trust me with the truth. If you had only told me . . .” She takes a gulping breath. “I don’t know how I’ll go back to who I was or rather move forward.”

She looks around us, rubbing her hand on the cushion next to her thigh. Confusion fills her expression for a second, and she quietly speaks. “You’ve even ruined this couch for me.”

Next, tears fill her eyes. “But I always recover,” she says to the velvety material.

Slowly, she stands and exits the Bean. Carrying a Busy Bean coffee mug in her hand, she takes my heart with her. I stare after her, knowing nothing I say will bring her back to me. Even the truth won’t set me free because the truth is still out in the elusive there. I’ll never know what happened that night. I only know I’ve lost a woman who has ruined me just as she feels I ruined her.

18

Rita

The following morning, I meet Scarlett at the Busy Bean Café. I couldn’t keep ignoring her, and I needed to apologize for reacting as I had to the information she shared a week ago. She was only looking out for me as a friend. Also, I needed a baby Harley fix.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Scarlett questions as she greets me outside the café. She knows how I feel about the location and the couch I accused Jake of hogging.

“I’m not going to hide,” I tell myself as much as reassuring my friend. When Ian passed, I’d fallen into a slump, allowing myself a month to wallow and wane over his loss. Then I picked myself up, or so I thought, returning to work with drinks on the regular when I clocked out for the day and wine before bedtime. By the time I’d made the horrible mistake of throwing myself at a man I can hardly remember and finding myself on the floor of my place, I realized I was still hiding behind a bottle in the shape of Tanqueray or a good red.

Scarlett opens an arm for me, and I step into a side hug from her while she jostles Harley on her other hip.

“Give him to me,” I coo, wiggling my fingers for the little man, and Scarlett passes the growing baby into my arms. As I enter the café, I hadn’t realized I was using Harley as a shield until I let out a huge sigh of relief that Jake is not present on the favored couch. Taking Harley with me to said sofa, Scarlett steps up to the counter to greet Roderick and a new worker behind the counter.

Once seated on the plush peach fabric, I focus on the baby on my lap, inhaling his sticky, sweet scent. My eyes prickle with a reminder of all I’ll never have, but I rapidly blink back the threat of tears. I don’t want to cry anymore.

“Tell me everything,” Scarlett says as she comes to sit beside me, holding two steamy mugs in her hands. I break into what I’d learned only the night before in this same spot, telling her everything right down to the strange lamp he’d given me.

“A lamp?” Scarlett questions.

“Or a light. I’m not certain what to call it. It’s very artistic and obviously handmade, but I don’t understand its significance.”

Scarlett ponders the gift for a moment before asking, “Do you believe him?”

Focusing on Harley, I answer Scarlett. “I want to believe him. Something deep inside me says there is no way Jake could have done it. He couldn’t start a fire. But I just don’t know. I don’t know him.” The statement is more a reminder to myself than Scarlett.

What do I really know about Jake Drummond?

I know how his lips taste and his mouth feels as he travels over my skin. I know how he looks when he enters me, his expression always full of wonder at our connection. I know how charmingly he smiles and how he knows it gets to me every damn time he uses it on me. I also know he’s been loyal to his family and worked hard his entire life, giving up his own dreams to take care of others.

It hits me that I’d done the same thing for my family. When my father had his first heart attack, I returned for him. When my father became a judge, I took over more of our practice, falling into all the places I am now: a practicing attorney, a Building Buddies supervisor, a woman alone.

“I think you should trust your gut. If it’s telling you Jake didn’t do it—couldn’t do it—then you need to go with that feeling. Find out more information.”

“You sound like May,” I state, holding Harley’s little fists and tapping his pudgy knuckles together.