Chương 5
The directness of children is occasionally refreshing and usually brutal.
"I haven't changed any plans yet."
His jaw tightened.
"That's not what I asked."
"Caleb."
"Did he cheat on you?"
"No."
"Did he hit you?"
"No."
"Then what?"
I reached for the coffee maker.
"I can't tell you everything right now."
"Because I'm twelve."
"Because I'm responsible for what you have to carry."
He leaned against the counter.
"I already know something's wrong."
"I know."
"That counts as carrying it."
The coffee maker made a wet choking noise.
I had forgotten to put the pot beneath it.
Coffee spread across the warming plate.
Caleb grabbed a dish towel.
"Excellent start to the day."
"I am thriving."
He wiped the counter while I replaced the pot.
Neither of us spoke for a minute.
Then he said, "I don't hate Grant."
The confession surprised me.
"I didn't think you did."
"I don't love him either."
"Okay."
"He tries too hard."
"What does that mean?"
Caleb shrugged.
"When you like somebody, you don't keep checking if they noticed."
I stared at him.
He became uncomfortable under the attention.
"I'm going upstairs."
"Wait."
"What?"
"Did something happen between you two?"
"No."
"Has he ever said anything that made you uncomfortable?"
Caleb thought about it.
"Not creepy uncomfortable."
The phrase made every muscle in my back tighten.
"What kind, then?"
"Just stuff."
"What stuff?"
"He asked whether I thought you'd ever sell this place."
I kept my face still.
"When?"
"Couple months ago."
"What exactly did he say?"
Caleb frowned.
"We were fixing my bike."
"Take your time."
"He said the house was too much work for one family."
"And?"
"I said you liked it."
"He asked if I'd want to live somewhere newer."
"Anything else?"
Caleb rubbed his thumbnail along a scratch in the counter.
"He asked if I thought the twins would care."
The coffee maker clicked behind me.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"It wasn't a crime."
"No."
"I thought he wanted one of those neighborhoods where every house looks the same."
He glanced toward the window.
"I told him I'd rather live in a tent."
Despite myself, I smiled.
"What did he say?"
"He said I was dramatic."
"Accurate."
"Rude."
The twins thundered down the stairs before I could ask more.
June was furious because Maisie had used her hairbrush.
Maisie insisted she had borrowed it for less than fifteen seconds.
The world resumed.
I made scrambled eggs.
June complained they were too wet.
Maisie complained hers were too dry even though they came from the same pan.
Caleb ate four pieces of toast that had not been salvaged from the first batch.
At seven forty-three, my phone rang.
Grant.
I carried it into the mudroom.
"Morning."
"Morning, beautiful."
The phrase made me tired.
"You sleep okay?"
"Not really."
"Same."
He lowered his voice.
"Mom is losing her mind over the florist."
"What's wrong?"
"Apparently white roses are now cream roses, which means civilization has collapsed."
I leaned against the washing machine.
"Tell her hydrangeas are still hydrangeas."
"I did."
"Did it help?"
"No."
There was a pause.
"We still meeting at the chapel at three?"
"Yes."
"Good."
Another pause.
Then he said, almost casually, "Did you get a chance to look at the property agreement again?"
My pulse kicked once.
"Last night?"
"I know."
He laughed softly.
"Bad timing."
"Why the rush?"
"No rush."
"You keep asking."
"I just want it off our plates."
"The wedding is in less than forty-eight hours."
"Exactly."
"So it can wait."
His silence lasted two seconds.
Maybe three.
"Of course."
There it was again.
Attention.
He changed subjects immediately.
"Want me to grab lunch before rehearsal?"
"Sure."
"Your usual?"
"Turkey, no tomato."
"You hate tomato."
"I do."
"Still know you."
I closed my eyes.
Apparently he did.
That was the problem.
At eight twelve, Marcus arrived with Dana Rourke.
She was in her late fifties, compact, silver-haired, and wearing running shoes with a navy suit.
She shook my hand and declined coffee.
"I bring my own."
She lifted a stainless-steel thermos.
"I don't trust other people's ratios."
Marcus spread papers across the dining table.
Dana placed a thin folder beside them.
"I found three things worth discussing and about thirty that aren't."
"Start with the worst," I said.
"People always say that."
She sat down.
"The worst depends on what you're afraid of."
"Grant taking my money."
"Then this isn't the worst."
She opened the folder.
"His finances are ugly, but ugly is not illegal."
She showed me records connected to the consulting company.
Two loans.
The lien we had found.
A financing statement tied to equipment that appeared to belong to no operating business I could identify.
"Could it be fake collateral?"
I asked.
"It could be many things."
Dana's expression did not change.
"We don't leap."
She turned a page.
"His personal credit profile isn't available to you just because you're marrying him, and I'm not obtaining it unlawfully."
"Understood."
"But public records show a pattern of obligations."
"How much?"
"Enough to suggest his lifestyle isn't supported by the financial picture we can verify."
Marcus tapped the page.
"Second thing?"
Dana pulled out another sheet.
"Holloway Restoration Group doesn't list Grant as an executive."
"I never said executive."
"You called him regional project director."
"That's what he calls himself."
"Company materials list him as senior project manager."
The difference should not have mattered.
It did.
"Could be outdated."
"Could be."
Dana looked at me.
"You will hear that phrase a lot today."
"What's the third thing?"
She hesitated.
Marcus noticed.
"So this is the one."
Dana slid a copy of a docket search toward him.
"There is no criminal filing."
My lungs loosened slightly.
"However, I found a civil matter filed yesterday in Dauphin County involving his employer and one of the vendors connected to projects Grant supervised."
"Grant is named?"
"Not as a defendant."
May you like
"Then why does it matter?"
"Because the complaint references payments approved by a project manager whose initials are G.H."
