The Life She Wants by Robyn Carr
“Large sums, too. We got a wire transfer for almost a half million.”
“No shit?” he said, stunned. “We know where it came from yet?”
“We’ll know soon. We just have to exercise the warrant. And I think we notify the feds and offer to open an investigation.”
“We can notify the feds and let them open an investigation,” he suggested.
“It’s our investigation,” she reminded him.
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“Is this you making the easy choice?” she asked. “You skipping out so you don’t mess things up with the girl? Should we pull you out of this investigation for conflict of interest?”
“There’s nothing to indicate Riley had anything to do with Emma Shay’s financial situation.”
George sighed, took a deep breath. “Emma’s tied into the Kerrigan family in a big way. A bigger way than I think you realize. She works for Riley Kerrigan, she’s sleeping with Adam Kerrigan, she’s socializing with June Kerrigan, and the other guy? Your girl’s ex? That was her boyfriend in high school and they’ve rekindled their friendship. She’s referred to him in conversations with Adam. And there’s another twist that makes me uncomfortable and suspicious. Emma Shay is having serious dialogue with a teenage girl she calls Bethany and I’m asking myself if that could be Maddie Kerrigan with an alias or a close friend of Maddie’s. Emma and the girl are close. They seem bonded over something and I’m not sure what. The girl complains about her stepmother sometimes and Emma commiserates. Is it possible that it’s Emma’s child, given up for adoption? Could that be her motive for hiding money? A child?”
“What?”
“Just a thought. A guess, really. Quite a coincidence that Maddie Kerrigan is fifteen and this Bethany, whoever she might be, is fifteen and troubled. That aside, just with the money transfer we have enough probable cause. We’ll get the okay, we’ll get a little more traction on this then bring her in for questioning.”
He winced.
“There’s a reason we don’t get involved with our suspects.”
“Riley isn’t a suspect!”
“She’s a person of interest with a close relationship to our suspect.”
Logan knew this was not going to bode well for their relationship. Riley was not dumb. She was going to have no trouble connecting the dots. He didn’t simply come upon her in the deli section, innocent of agenda or intention. He knew Emma had some connection to the Kerrigans and stumbled across Riley and then damn! She was just the kind of woman he wanted. Somehow, he thought he could get the skinny on Emma without damaging his budding relationship with Riley.
“This is why we don’t shit where we eat,” George told him.
He knew why. He just didn’t want it to be true this time.
* * *
It was the second week in January by the time Riley finally got around to having lunch with Logan. She invited him. They met at a small, quiet restaurant on a Sunday. Riley was already having a glass of wine when he arrived. He smiled a little sadly as he sat down at her table. “This is a little obvious,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m in a barely populated restaurant at a somewhat isolated table on a Sunday so you can give me some bad news.”
She sighed heavily. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s have a glass of wine. Let’s talk. Let’s have lunch.”
“I’ll join you for the wine but I reserve judgment on the lunch.” The waiter was there immediately, taking his order. “You don’t have to wait for the wine. Go ahead. Lay it on me.”
“What exactly do you think is going to happen here?” she asked.
“I think you’re going to break up with me.”
“First of all, I hadn’t considered us steadies,” Riley said. “And second, I know I’ve been hard to reach the past couple of weeks—since Maddie’s accident—but that’s exactly the sort of thing I hate about dating. Just because we have a few nice dates and fun conversations you have this expectation of some priority when I have a daughter, a business—”
“And an elderly mother?” he asked. “Don’t spoil it, Riley. Men are clumsy assholes who just don’t call when it doesn’t work out the way they wanted. Women are completely different. They feel the need to be honest, to explain, to iron out all the details and make sure everything is smooth. Fixed.” His wine was delivered and he took a sip. Then he tapped her glass. “Do it. Do what you came here to do.”
“Wow, you make it seem horrible. I think from now on I’m going with the not-calling route.”
“Nah, this is classier. I’m ready to hear it. I think I know but I’m ready to hear.”
“What do you think you know?”
He shook his head. “No way. It’s your show.”
“I’m sorry. I’m going to put our dating adventure on hold. Maybe for a while, maybe forever, time will tell. It seems I have some old issues to sort through. Some baggage. I’m as surprised as you are.”
“The ex,” he said.
“You shouldn’t really call him that. He’s Maddie’s father.”
“And the accident made you realize how much you care about him,” Logan said. It was not a question.
“Not exactly, but close. We all spent Christmas dinner at my mother’s, which is pretty typical unless Jock could convince me to let him take Maddie to his mother’s house. And afterward I dropped by his house to talk about Maddie. Nothing urgent, just the fact that we’re moving into a new phase in this co-parenting. She’s growing up and we’ll be visiting colleges next year! I realized I had never seen the inside of his house. I didn’t know Maddie had a perfectly lovely room there that she hardly ever uses. I was a little shocked to realize how difficult and distant I’d been where Maddie and Jock are concerned and... Well, the next thing you know, there’s an accident and he’s seriously injured.”
“And you realized you nearly lost your chance?”
She shook her head. “No, it was Maddie. She verged on hysterical. She was so shaken and terrified—her father means a lot more to her than I realized. How could I have been so dumb? So I’m trying to help out a little—visiting him in the hospital, with Maddie of course, taking him some meals while he’s recovering and most of all just talking to him.”
Logan looked down.
“My daughter is almost sixteen years old, Logan. And I’ve spent the last sixteen years being mad at Jock for being the idiot to screw up everything. More than once! And he’s the first to admit he made some incredibly immature mistakes. I’ve been very pigheaded. I thought maybe it’s time to know the guy now that he’s grown up. I don’t have any expectations—you’d think if we were meant to be a couple it would’ve happened long before now. But I want to explore the idea of us being friends, if you can understand that. One day we’ll be grandparents to the same grandchildren.”
“And we can’t date while you’re working on getting along with your ex for the sake of the grandchildren?” he asked. “You’re not fooling me, Riley. You want to be open to something more than friendship. Deny it, go ahead. Because I already know you don’t lie.”
“Then you also know I don’t move very fast,” she said. “And you’re moving a little fast.”
“I don’t have fifteen years.”
“I certainly wouldn’t suggest you wait that long for someone like me,” she said. “Will you still have lunch with me?”
“Why? Is there more?” he asked.
“Please, Logan. I like you. I like you very much. I think our timing is a bit off and I’m being completely honest when I say that I’m not sure where this thing with Jock is headed. Is it possible you and I can remain friends?”
“Let’s order lunch,” he said, opening his menu.
“Yes, let’s,” she said, opening her menu. They made their choices, ordered and
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “We’re going to have lunch. And then I’m going to tell you—I don’t really want to be friends. I was falling in love with you and I think you know it. And I also think maybe you’re afraid of that. I was willing to wait, to put up with being third or fourth on your list. I was willing to take chances for you. So we’re going to have lunch, talk a little then say goodbye. And if you’re ever ready to pick this up where we left it, which was pretty close to the next level in the man-woman equation, you have my number. But I’m not waiting around while you check out your ex.”
“I don’t think you understand at all,” she said.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I understand. You might intend to just get to know him so you can be grandparents together but I guarantee you, that’s not how he’s going to see it.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’m a guy, Riley. That’s how I know.”
* * *
It turned out that John Shay was the millionaire next door. An unpretentious, hardworking man of sensible but excellent taste. He and his first wife built themselves a solid house in a good neighborhood and he saved and invested all his life. Emma didn’t come along until he was thirty-five and he lost his wife to diabetes-related kidney failure a year later. He had accrued a nice little nest egg by the time he died, and insurance paid off the house, which was valued at a million and a quarter.
John bought good cars and drove them until they died of old age, did all his own yard work and could have indulged in European vacations or maybe had a summer home, but instead he saved and invested. His second wife had worked, his children were always well dressed and he insisted on a good mattress. They never scrimped on food; they ate good, healthy meals. Emma would have expected her father to have left a reasonable sum that was meant to cover his retirement but she was completely unprepared for the estate to be worth several million dollars.
It was obvious that Rosemary did what she always had done where Emma was concerned—she took what was Emma’s and gave it to Anna and Lauren, two young women who had inherited their mother’s anger and bitterness. For a little while Emma was sad that those two had her father’s house but then she thought about the two of them living there together in old age and her sadness turned to pity. She had no idea if either of them had a significant relationship or love in their lives but they seemed far too unhappy for that. But then Rosemary was a stiff and negative woman and she’d been married three times.
Emma gave Aaron her banking information and he arranged to have the money she was entitled to transferred into her bank account—she wasn’t sure what she was going to do with it yet. After her experience with Richard she wasn’t eager to turn it over to a broker or money manager so she thought maybe she’d study a little about investments herself, do something that felt safe. She was her father’s daughter, after all.
Rosemary died and Emma paid her respects. Adam was her escort. She went only to the visitation and had a very large floral arrangement delivered. There weren’t many people present, mostly friends of Anna and Lauren’s, and Emma didn’t stay long.
She told no one about the money, not even Adam. When he noticed she was a little melancholy she made the excuse that the final goodbye to Rosemary and probably her sisters had left her feeling a little let down. But it was the money. It bothered her. Worried her. She decided she had to get that off her back and planned to explain to Adam that she’d been blown away by an uncomfortably large sum.
She asked if she could cook dinner for him at his house on a Friday night. It was the end of January and he was thrilled by the offer. She wasn’t much of a cook—so little practice over the years—so she made an extra-large pot of spaghetti and meatballs, bought prepared garlic bread that only needed a few minutes in the oven and threw together a simple salad.
“Perfect,” Adam said.
“I made a big batch so we can have fried spaghetti tomorrow night. If I’m invited back.”
“I want to be with you every night you’ll have me,” he said.
“Adam, I have something to tell you. I’ve been keeping something from you. Just for a couple of weeks, but I have to tell someone and you’re the only one that really matters.”
“I thought something was wrong,” he said. “I’ve been worried.”
She explained about the will. She didn’t tell him how much she’d received but she said it was substantial.
“Emma, that’s fantastic! But how in the world did Rosemary think she’d hide it from you?”
“I’m not sure, except that she managed the trust. The lawyer, who was my father’s friend, said there was more, especially a third of the value of the house, if I wanted to fight for it. Adam, I put the money in the bank and I hope I don’t regret it, but I asked Aaron not to pursue this any further. There’s another check due when I’m thirty-five and I’ll put that in the bank. My sisters...my lonely, angry, heartbroken sisters might be very rich but I won’t challenge the management of the trust. I’m done. Just having more than ten thousand dollars in the bank makes me uncomfortable.”
He laughed. “Something for you to talk to Lucinda about,” he said. “But you have a little savings, Emma. The sky isn’t falling anymore.”
“Why does having anything make me feel bad? Guilty?”
“And why does that surprise you after what Richard did? Listen, if you can’t beat the guilt even with therapy, you can always give it all to charity.”
“Would you?”
“Oh, hell no,” he said with a grin. “I’ve been working my whole life for a savings account. I’m thirty-seven, have an IRA, a little money socked away, a schoolteacher’s pension and my mortgage will be paid off in ten years because I always throw a little extra at the principal. Mom is taken care of, Riley is very successful, Maddie’s college tuition is in the bank... We’re in great shape. If someone dumped a bunch of money in my lap, I wouldn’t feel guilt unless it was stolen.”
“But I bet you’d use it to help people,” she said.
“Emma, I help people every day. My mom helps people and animals. Riley thinks she’s just working herself to death but look at what she’s built and how it caters to the single mothers she employs. For most people helping people is either a way of life, or it’s not.”
And she thought, he is so right. I will just be still and quiet for a little while and I’ll know exactly how to make my father’s legacy help people.
“One of the best ways to help the world is to never be a burden to it. Give money, give time, give love, and make sure you give yourself a little to spare so you’re not the one in need.”
“You are so wise,” she said.
“Poor boys work harder to be wise,” he said. “I’m very grateful not to be a poor boy anymore. And I’m really grateful for this spaghetti. And to know you have no real reason to be sad.”
They talked late into the night. They kicked back and forth many ideas of what it meant to really live well, to live in the moment, to be present and aware and to be grateful. What was plenty, really? Emma had been up and down the financial spectrum so many times—she should know. She’d been one of the well-off girls in school, struggled in college and almost didn’t have enough money to join a sorority. Her first years in New York were awfully tight, but also filled with like creatures and great fun. Then there were the years with Richard during which she often felt like a visitor in her own life. And here she was in the arms of a good, honest man and everything seemed so real to her. So rich.
In the morning she began to stir when she heard him moving around. He got up, started the coffee, got in the shower. When she heard the shower shut off she went to the kitchen for coffee and the second her feet hit the floor she felt strange. Her stomach was upset. Her knees were a little weak.
She got to the kitchen and was overtaken by
He lifted one brow. “That spaghetti worked fine for me,” he said.
“I have no idea what’s wrong,” she said. She sniffed. “I feel completely fine now. That coffee even smells good.”
“Emma,” he asked. “When did you last have a period?”
“Oh, shit,” she said.
* * *
It was next to impossible to get an immediate appointment with an OB, especially if you were a woman about four weeks pregnant. What they routinely did was give you vitamins and see you for the first time at a couple of months, maybe three months. But Adam taught with a man whose wife was an OB and called in a favor because Emma was worried. She was afraid she’d gotten a positive pregnancy test because something was terribly wrong. After all, she’d been through a little over a year of infertility tests and treatments.
“I can’t see that anything is wrong,” Dr. Winnet said. “And you are definitely pregnant. Due in the fall.”
“But I was told my only hope was in vitro!”
“I’ll request the records from your specialist and do a little blood work, but if you were infertile, you’re not anymore. And you appear to be in excellent health.”
Her records were electronic and therefore transferred from Dr. Grimaldi in New York within a couple of days. Dr. Winnet called her. “I’m a little confused. You say he did a fertility workup? Because all I find in your chart is regular exams, birth control medication, one cyst removal.”
“No, no, not birth control pills. I was taking hormones to stimulate ovulation. I was x-rayed for blocked fallopian tubes. We were getting ready to harvest eggs for in vitro when...” She stopped. When Richard said, “I don’t have time to deal with this while I’m consumed with the investigation. They’re demanding records constantly. Just let me get through this and we’ll give it a go.”