My sister’s pained stare broke me.
“Amanda, I’m sorry if I overstepped today. I got impatient, but I didn’t mean to upset you more.”
“It’s not your fault I’m upset.” It would be if she knew the whole truth. It’d be a relief to simply confess, but unburdening my conscience now seemed more selfish than helpful. Amanda turned to me, her face flushed. “I just—it kills me that Lyle’s sailing around with no remorse whatsoever. He never loved me.” Her voice cracked.
She rarely showed her pain to me—at least not this directly—and I desperately wished I could take it away. “He doesn’t love Ebba, either. He only loves himself.”
I held my breath then. The last time I’d made a remark of that ilk had been their first anniversary—the “paper” one. She’d had their wedding vows transcribed in calligraphy on large sheets of paper, which she’d framed, so I called to see how he’d liked it. When she described what sounded like a tepid reaction and then told me he’d given her a box of stationery—something that hadn’t taken much time or effort—I’d popped off a cutting remark, at which point she’d insinuated that I was jealous and then hung up on me.
Today she didn’t defend Lyle—a promising change. Instead she shrugged. “I’ll survive, but how will it affect Willa to have a dad who couldn’t care enough to stick around?”
Given our awesome father, I couldn’t imagine that. I wondered, however, if Amanda was also projecting a bit of her own feelings of rejection, too. Our father had never neglected her, but she’d yearned for a relationship with him that never fully formed because they were such different people. Sensing a need for a lighter topic, I said, “Let’s take things one day at a time. Want some help baking now that Mom’s pissed off at us both?”
She flashed a half-hearted smile. “No offense, but when’s the last time you used an oven?”
“Fair enough. Go buy out the counter at Sugar Momma’s and save yourself the effort. I think you need to rest, Amanda. You’ve lost your glow.”
“Hard to glow when my life is falling apart.” Amanda tucked a section of loose hair behind her ear. “How about we talk about you instead. Have you heard from Eli?”
I shook my head. Each morning I’d stare at the sliding doors, hoping he’d show up to yoga, but he’d steered clear of this house and me since the K-bomb. “I finally googled him, though. He’s cowritten a ton of songs, produced a bunch, too. He never let on about all his success, which makes me like him more. I also found pictures of his wife and him at the CMAs. She was pretty in a soft way, like you. Fine features. Fair-haired.”
Amanda protectively cradled her stomach. “When I think about what happened to his wife and baby, I feel sick. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Willa. She’s all I have.”
It saddened me that she believed her child was all she had. She needed a new perspective, and a new goal. Revenge worked for me. “The only person anything bad will happen to is Lyle. I’ll make sure of that.”
But as my words made their way into the universe, I regretted tempting fate. When Amanda shivered, I prayed it was from the cool spring breeze whipping across the yard.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AMANDA
The last time I’d been to Sugar Momma’s had been the day I’d gotten my first inkling about Lyle’s lies. Now, despite its welcoming yellow-and-blue-striped awning snapping cheerfully in the breeze, the little shop resembled a crime scene more than a haven.
Townsfolk milled around the local stores and bistros, enjoying the warm weather, oblivious to the ways my life had fallen apart. When I got out of my car, I kept my gaze down, unwilling to make eye contact with anyone familiar who might question me about Lyle and wish us well with our baby.
That thought shot heat to my cheeks.
My phone rang on my way to the door, so I huddled outside the entrance. “Hello?”
“Amanda, it’s Stan again. We got so caught up in our conversation about Lyle’s whereabouts that I forgot to tell you that I confirmed his mom died when he was twelve, and he did marry a Deanna Parker, who got an annulment a year later. Mr. Foster Sr. pays his bills on time and has held a job at Chrysler for twenty-plus years. He lives a quiet life, frequents a local social club, and likes to go on fishing trips.”
Like my dad. Perhaps Willa could have a grandfather in her life after all.
I settled one hand on my stomach, my head rising with hope. “Are you saying nothing about Mr. Foster gives you pause?”
“From all accounts, he’s a stand-up guy living his life in the same community where he grew up.”
A man who appreciated truth, roots, and the comfort of home. Exactly the kind of person I could relate to. “Thank you so much. Is that all?”
“Pretty much. I’ll be back in touch when we have everything together to take to the FBI.”
“Don’t contact the authorities just yet. My mother and I . . . well, we’re weighing all options.”
A heavy sigh came through the line. “Your options are pretty limited. But you know, there may be a legal way to get the title to that boat transferred before Lyle is arrested. I was speaking with a buddy, and he said the FBI sometimes authorizes an OIA—otherwise illegal activity. They might be willing to do that with regard to Lyle in order to get a confession and button up their case.”
Me, an operative? No one would believe it, least of all Lyle. “How would it work?”
“Basically they’d ‘deputize’ you for a limited purpose. You’d probably wear a wire and confront Lyle with the proposed deal—the boat title in exchange for not pressing charges. If you get him talking, he might confess, but even if he doesn’t confess, if he takes your deal and signs over the boat, it’s a stronger case.”
“But won’t they seize the boat as soon as they arrest him?”
“Not from what I’m told. It’d be your mom’s to sell. They might seize his other assets, which would include your house.”
“Couldn’t I wrap my house and custody into that deal?”
“’Fraid not.”
I should jump at this for my mom’s sake, although the greedy part of me remained heartsick that I wouldn’t get what I needed. I’d give up ten years of my life span to make sure Lyle never had any say in Willa’s life. “It’s something to consider.”
“In these situations, it’s best to set your emotions aside and let the authorities do their jobs. The sooner we alert them, the better.”
“I know.” But he didn’t understand how impossible it would be to force my mother to face public shame a second time—especially when she couldn’t easily move to a new community and start over like she had as a child. I’d gone my entire life without crossing her. If she didn’t give me her blessing, I wasn’t sure I could kick off my first time with something so permanent. “I’m about to enter a store. Can we talk later?”
“Sure thing. Have a good day.”
A good day? I hadn’t had one in weeks, and probably wouldn’t have one for months to come.
Uncertainty gnawed at me, leaving me raw. I probably should’ve turned around rather than open the shop door.