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“It does matter. Nick cares about you. When you left, he was just as anxious as I was to find you.”
Charlie’s so desperate for me to get along with Nick, she’s resorted to lying. Sad. Swinging into the right-hand lane, I flash a one-fingered wave to the driver who is operating his vehicle like it’s his first time behind the wheel and speed down the off ramp into Houston proper.
“I know, I know,” I say placatingly, even though I don’t believe it. Charlie’s the sweetest person in the world. She’d try to see the good side of a serial killer. “Look, I’m sorry I brought it up. Anyway, Diane’s brother’s friend sounds nice. He’s gainfully employed, and they only hire good-looking people as trainers, right? Attractive and employed don’t always go together. I’ve got nothing to lose.”
Charlie doesn’t immediately respond. When she finally does talk, her words are reserved. “I didn’t realize you were thinking about dating again. I mean…every time I’ve brought it up, you’ve said it was because you wanted to focus on Cassidy.”
“I did want to focus on Cassidy. When we met, I was working two jobs and seeing Cassidy only a few hours a day. Now, thanks to you, I only work this one job, and Cassidy and I have more time together than I’d hoped for.”
“I feel bad I’m making you go to Houston.” Charlie sounds unnaturally guilty, but I guess it’s part of her make-up. She’s too giving and has a hard time asking for help.
“This is part of my job and I’m grateful to have it. And Nick and Cassidy are probably having the time of their lives together.” Which is sort of dangerous. I can’t have Cass becoming too attached to the man. Is it really your daughter you’re worried about or yourself? A tiny voice says inside my head.
“There’s not a woman around that doesn’t adore Nick. Present party excluded.”
Both of us, I reply to the inner voice.
“Cassidy’s too young to know better,” I say to my friend who responds with a happy chuckle. The GPS guidance tells me to turn left and the destination will be on my right. “I’m almost at the fish place. Anything else you want me to pick up while I’m here?”
“No. Thank you.” She hesitates, and I can almost see her bite her lower lip. “You really don’t have to deliver it for me.”
“Charlie,” I say with exaggerated patience, “I’m here. I’m picking up the fish. I’m delivering the fish. You go get new clients so your business makes lots more money.”
She laughs. “Okay. Love you, Lainey.”
“Love you too, Charlotte.”
“I’m going to kill that girl,” I mutter under my breath as the manager of Stedman’s Exotics brings out the styrofoam coolers containing eight bags of exotic fish.
“I thought maybe Mr. Jackson would come himself.” The manager’s round face is full of disappointment. “I suppose what with the season starting and all, he doesn’t have time to come down to Houston. My kid’s a big fan. Don’t tell anyone though. We’re supposed to support the Texans around here.”
“You have my word.” I draw an X across my chest, my finger crossways across my chest, although I don’t know quite who he thinks I’ll be telling.
“Great. Great.” He sets the second cooler in the back of my hatchback and whips out a sheaf of papers. “These fish need to be transferred one at a time by acclimating the water in their current habitat to the new aquarium.”
“What does that entail?” I’ll drop these off, pick up my kid, and let Nick deal with this mess.
He shoves one of the papers into my hand. I scan the instructions as he hits the highlights. “An hour. You first insert the bagged fish into the tank for approximately thirty minutes so the water temperature stabilizes within the bag. Then open the bag, placing the tank water into the bag, and let the water mix together for another thirty minutes.”
I fold the instructions and place them in my purse. “Sounds good. We can do that.”
“If you’ll sign here.” He flips the forms in front of me.
“I’ll be sure to give Mr. Jackson the instructions.”
The papers are dragged away.
“Wait, I didn’t sign.”
The manager sniffs in disapproval. “It’s your signature. You agree to the above tasks. Not Mr. Jackson, but you. It’s why we prefer the owner of the aquarium to come. These are very rare creatures and it’s extremely important to us to make sure our friends are going to good homes—homes of people who will take appropriate care of them. Perhaps…” He taps the papers against the table and I can see the idea forming in his head that he shouldn’t sell these to me. And I’m not going to be the one that Nick Jackson blames for not getting his “special fish.” Oh no.
