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“Ellie’s been through a lot,” he says, “I’m the only thing she’s got. If she’s asking for money from people she hardly knows…”
“It’s not like that.”
“Then what’s it like?” His hardened gaze pins me into place. He’s not going to let this go. If he doesn’t get it out of me right here, right now, he’s going to pester me at the office until I cave.
“She’s taking steps to better her life. That’s all you need to know. You should be proud of her. That’s all I can say,” I tell him.
He looks surprised, but only for a moment. “And the check is for…?”
“Tuition.” I leave it at that.
“You’re paying for it?” He says it like it’s a bad thing.
I shrug. “It’s what I do. If you took a second to get to know me, you might learn a thing or two about me.”
He lets out a bitter laugh and shakes his head. Then he steps aside. “Come in.”
He says it like he wants to give me a stern talking-to. As if I did something wrong. I follow him anyway, because I know what Ellie told me about her brother. She said he doesn’t understand how hard it is for her, for single moms. If I can make him understand, then I’ll have done my job and things will be even easier for her from here on out.
As pass the dining room, there’s an air hockey table where a dining one should be, and moving onto the living room, I’m stepping over toys that are scattered everywhere.
He leads me into a kitchen full of stainless steel and dark wood, masculine and modern except for the kids’ finger-paintings on the refrigerator, dirty sneakers on the counter, and a dinosaur book bag piled by the back door.
He pulls out a chair for me. “Sit, please.”
Very polite of him. What a great host. I lower myself into the chair, cross my legs, and lace my fingers together on my knee, as if this is business meeting. Then I say, “I hope you’re not going to try to talk me out of it.”
He tilts his head. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
The impertinent bastard. He thinks he knows what’s best for her, just because they’re related? No wonder Ellie didn’t want to tell him about this or ask him for help. He’s impossible.
I stiffen and move my legs away, so I won’t accidentally brush against anything of his. “Good luck. I’m in Ellie’s corner, not yours. I’m here to help her.”
The superior look on his face gives way to annoyance. “You don’t know Ellie, not the way I do.”
“And?”
“And this is a private family matter.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want your help, ever thought of that? Maybe you’re just another man limiting her options.”
“Limiting her options?” He repeats.
“Yes! She wants to be a chef, and this opportunity is perfect for her because—”
“She’s lying.”
I stop. “What?”
“Ellie is messed up. She has been, ever since she was a kid. She’s a compulsive liar. There likely isn’t a training program. And a chef?” He winces. “Ellie couldn’t boil water if she tried. She can microwave some Easy Mac, that’s about the extent of her abilities.”
I blink. “She doesn’t bake pies?”
He shakes his head. “Pies? I wish. This kitchen is perpetually empty of things to eat.”
“She said her place burned down because she was making a glaze on the stove…”
“I’m sorry you believed that,” he says. “She left a candle unattended on her nightstand. The heat kicked on, blew her curtains into it. Just lucky no one was home when it happened. Feel free to Google it if you don’t believe me. Search up Sapphire Shores apartment fire, you’ll find an article.”
Suddenly I feel stupid, like I’ve been knocked off the high horse I rode in here on.
I stand up. “Tell her to keep the clothes. They’ll be good for interviews or office jobs or whatever she wants to do.”
“I appreciate that.” He hands me the envelop of cash.
I hesitate in the doorway of the living room. I thought Ellie and I were starting to connect, that she trusted me. When she told me about her struggles with her brother, about her personal tragedies, I believed her. And yet, it was all a scheme to get money and sympathy.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and I believe him. “Ever since the fire, she’s been on a bit of a downward spiral. She and Jace been living here while she tries to get back on her feet.” He seems genuinely affected by it, scrubbing a tense hand down his stubble-covered jaw. “I’m doing what I can to help. But it’s not a straight path out of the hole, you know?”
I know. I absolutely know.
“Thanks for trying to help, Bayliss,” he says as he walks me out.
In the parking lot, as I’m sliding behind the wheel of my car, something comes to me.
