“I never meant to put you in such an awful predicament.” Maggie’s voice trembles. “I’m so s—sorry. I wish there was something I could do to fix this.”
I tighten my hold on the cell phone as an ironic chuckle falls from my lips. “You could cough up the fifty grand the Spencers are demanding for the mold removal.”
Okay, that was a cheap shot. Instantly, I wish I could call the words back. Well, maybe not. Maggie is the one who unwittingly got me into this mess. I can’t deny that I’m peeved about it. However, it’s not Maggie’s fault.
Maggie gasps like I’ve slapped her in the face.
“Jojo, you know Doug and I don’t have that kind of money,” she insists. “We spent every last cent we have to get into this new house. Plus, we have all the expenses from the kids with dance and sports.”
I exhale a long, beleaguered breath. “I know.” I’m the one—who, at the closing—had to sit and listen to Doug bellyache about how much everything costs. It was all I could do not to wad up the closing documents and shove them down his throat. The man is cheap to the point of sin.
“If our realtor hadn’t talked us into buying something more expensive, then we would’ve had some extra funds.”
My eyebrows shoot clear up into my newly styled wispy bangs. “Don’t put this on me,” I spew. “You’ve had your eye on the Willow Street house since we were kids.”
“I know,” she sighs contritely. “And it’s a jewel. Worth every last penny.”
“And then some,” I retort, still smarting from her jab. “You got it for a steal,” I remind her.
“This isn’t about the Willow house.” Her voice goes hard. “It’s about Harriet and Davy Spencer. They must be out of their half-baked minds. Fifty-thousand dollars is insane,” she hisses. “You and I both know that it won’t cost more than fifteen or twenty to get the mold removed.”
“That’s just the cost for the removal,” I point out as I check my reflection in the rearview mirror. Ugh! There are bags under my eyes from lack of sleep. Gingerly, I press my finger against the puffy skin. I had hoped the concealer would do the trick, but nope, the bags are still there—big as balloons.
I make my living off of holding my cool—at least on the outside. I may come off to Maggie and the rest of the world like I have everything under control, but this situation with the Spencers is getting to me. I’ve spent years honing my skills as a realtor. I pride myself on paying close attention to the fine print and all of those pesky little details so that I can avoid exactly these types of situations. And yet, here I am.
Of course, I never could’ve anticipated this. No one could have. It’s an unfortunate disaster. I go into practical mode. “The Spencers will have to tear out everything down to the studs for a total redo. If you look at it that way, fifty thou is a bargain.” I reach into my purse and grab a tube of lipstick from my makeup bag. Maybe the popping-red shade will help take the attention away from my eye bags. I can dream, right? Why am I obsessing over my appearance? It’s not like I have a significant other to look my best for. Howie encouraged me to bring a plus one to the party, but it’s just little ole me—as single as they come. I smirk at the thought.
“So you say,” Maggie sulks. A second later, her voice pitches high. “How could Harriet and Davy think that Doug or I would withhold something as serious as a mold problem from them?” Her outrage rises to a crescendo. “That you would withhold it? Your reputation is flawless.”
My stomach tightens. “Not anymore.” I pop open the lipstick, dial it up, and apply it to my lips in deft strokes. I have to at least try to look somewhat presentable. I don’t want everyone at the party to think I’ve gone to the dogs. What I really want to do right now is go home and eat my way through a pan of brownies. First though, I have to make an appearance at Howie and Louise’s wedding anniversary party.
I’ll do the only thing I know how to do. That’s to keep moving forward and hope I can somehow sift my way through the unsettling events that are pressing on me like a frozen slab of beef—cold and unrelenting. An image of Owen flashes through my mind, making me feel as glum as a kid about to go back to school after summer break. Why does it always go back to Owen? Yes, I’m pathetic.
There’s a part of me that has been on autopilot ever since I got the call from Rhett three weeks ago when he announced that he and Bela are getting married in Italy. They want me to be one of Bela’s bridesmaids. I’m honored. Truly. But that means that I’ll have to face Owen, who’s Rhett’s best man. Will Owen bring his latest girlfriend—the woman who works with Bela at the restaurants? I’m pretty good at pretending not to give a flying flip about what Owen Calhoun does. However, the truth is that he hurt me badly, and I’m still trying to figure out how to navigate life without him. The hard part is that Owen and I go all the way back to my childhood. So many of my memories include him. If I try to dissect the bits of Owen from my mind and heart, I fear there will be little left.
Add the trouble with the Spencers onto the pile, and I’m a nervous wreck.
Worry coils Maggie’s voice. “Do you think Harriet and Davy will go through with the lawsuit?”
That would be a disaster.
“I certainly hope not.” I drop the tube of lipstick back into my makeup bag and fluff up my hair. “I offered to pay the Spencers my commission from the sale, but that won’t even begin to cover the damages.” At this point, Harriet and Davy are fighting mad—beyond reasonable. And, because Maggie is my best friend, I lowered my commission significantly. So there’s not much to offer the Spencers.
“You shouldn’t have to do that,” Maggie squeaks. “This isn’t your fault.”
“I know that,” I growl, “but it doesn’t change the way things are.” I learned a long time ago that life isn’t fair. It’s not fair that Mom, Dad, and my grandmother are gone. Not to mention Rhett and Owen. I clench my hands to stay their trembling. Of course, Rhett and Owen aren’t dead, but they’re still not here in my everyday life. I’m painfully alone.
“I should’ve never asked you to sell my house or to take a reduced commission,” Maggie sulks.
I roll my eyes. Maggie likes to play the martyr when she gets in a jam. Of course she should’ve asked me. That I would help her is a given. “If you can’t ask your friends for help, then who can you ask?” I snip. Maggie and I have been close since kindergarten. No, I don’t like being put in a compromising position, but I know Maggie almost as well as I know myself, and I would bet my life on the fact that she and Doug didn’t know about the mold. Evidence of it was so well hidden that not even the inspector found it. It took knocking down walls to discover it. Is it terrible of me to wish that Harriet and Davy had never decided to remodel their basement? The mold would’ve kept growing, and no one would’ve been the wiser … until someone got sick.
Okay, I don’t wish Harriet or Davy any ill will. I’d be ticked if I paid top dollar for a home and then learned a few months later that it was eaten up with black mold.
“What does Howard have to say about the situation?”
“You know Howie. He’s worried, but he’s trying hard not to show it.” Howie owns the brokerage where I work. He’s my mentor and a dear friend.
“Howie’s a champ.”
“Yes, he is,” I agree wholeheartedly. That’s the one bright spot in all of this. Regardless of whether or not Harriet and Davy sue, Howie will stand behind me. With every fiber in my being, I hope this doesn’t escalate to a lawsuit. Surely, Howie and I can put our heads together and figure out some way to appease the disgruntled elderly couple.
“Yep, Howie’s a keeper. I wish I could say the same about Louise,” she grunts.
A droll grin lifts one side of my mouth. “Now, Maggie,” I drawl in my best Scarlet O’Hara rendition. “Is that any way to talk about Howie’s wife … your dear aunt?”
“Dear?” Maggie scoffs. “Not hardly. Louise is a royal pain in the butt, and that’s a nice way of putting it. Just ask my mama; she’ll tell you the same thing. Mama always says that Louise is tougher than a two-dollar steak.”
I can’t argue with Maggie there. Louise is a pill. Back to the lawsuit threat. It doesn’t help that Howie is related to Maggie by marriage. I’m sure the Spencers will point out that incriminating tidbit if they do end up suing. Poor Howie. This is the last thing he needs, especially since he’s still recovering from the mild heart attack he had a few months back. I’ll bet Louise is fit to be tied about the Spencers. No doubt she blames me for it all. There has never been any love lost between me and Louise. She resents that Howie took me in and treats me like his own daughter, especially since he has three actual daughters who never had any desire to go into the real estate business.
“Uh, oh,” Maggie exclaims in such a squeaky tone that it causes my ear to buzz. I pull the phone away from my ear and wince as Maggie yells, “Logan, did you hit Lexi?”
Seven years old, Logan is Maggie’s oldest and a handful. I hear squealing in the background. When Lexi, Maggie’s five-year-old daughter, gets going, she can make a banshee sound tame.
“Logan, go to your room,” Maggie demands. “Now! Doug,” she screeches like she’s on her last thread, “can you please do something with your son? I’m—on—the—phone.”
I smile thinly. It’s not hard to see where Maggie’s kids get their drama.
“Sorry about that,” Maggie says to me. “It’s been quite the day. Luke has an ear infection.”
I put the phone back up to my ear. “Poor baby. I’m so sorry.” Luke is a toddler and the caboose in the family. His tow-headed curls and big blue eyes melt my heart. I hate that the little guy is sick.
“The poor thing is miserable,” Maggie says in the sweet voice of a doting mom. “I took him to the doctor today and got a prescription. I hope he feels better soon.”
“Me too.”
She takes in a long breath. “Anyway, one of the reasons why I called—err, other than to apologize for the Spencers—was to tell you that Doug and I won’t be there tonight. Be sure to tell Howie why we’re not at the party.”
“Will do.” I glance around at the dark parking lot. “Speaking of the party, I’d better let you go. I just got to the club.”
“Have fun,” Maggie chimes.
I make a face. “You know me.”
“I do.”
Before I can hang up, she says, “Hey, I’ve been thinking about your Italy trip.”
My insides immediately tense. “Yeah?” I’ve spent far too much time over the past three weeks worrying about the trip and how I’ll react when I see Owen.
“I think you should take someone with you.”
Amusement circles through my chest. “Now, Maggie, is this your way of talking me into taking you along?”
She chuckles. “Don’t tempt me. I’d love to get away from my crazy circus of a life for a week or so. But sadly no, I’m not talking about myself. Doug would be fit to be tied if I left him here and took off to Italy. He wouldn’t last a day if he had to wrangle these rowdy kids all by himself,” she says in a low tone. The next second, her volume increases. “I’m talking about a member of the opposite sex … a fake boyfriend.”
“You’ve been watching way too many Hallmark movies. The girl drags some poor schmuck to a wedding so she can make her ex go green with envy in the hope that he’ll come crawling back to her.”
Like that would ever happen.
I used to fantasize about what it would be like if Owen did come back to me. Then, I planted my feet firmly in the real world and gave up any delusions of a fairytale happily ever-after.
“You obviously don’t watch Hallmark,” she smirks. “The girl usually falls for the fake boyfriend. That’s why the guy you pick had better be good.”
I shake my head, grinning. “So I guess this means that Marcus Stubblefield is out of the running.”
She harrumphs. “I don’t know why you ever dated that meathead to begin with.”
“Need I remind you that we’re in Pascagoula? Pickings are slim.”
“Not for you. You have a long line of admirers.”
“None that I want to drag along to Italy, thank you very much.”
“What about Harvey Ellis?”
I bunch my brows. “No way.”
“Aw, come on. He’s easy on the eyes.”
“True,” I concede, “but he’s a colossal bore. Once he starts rambling about his tech stuff, I’m completely lost.”
“How about Steve Lingerfelt?”
“Nope. Too cocky.”
“Chris Hennings?”
“Not a chance.” I suppress a shiver. “His hands are sweaty, and he kisses like a fish.”
Maggie hoots. “And exactly how do you know how a fish kisses?” Her voice goes snide. “Is there something that you’re not telling me?”
“Not hardly.” I make a face. “If I had to choose between kissing Chris and kissing a fish, I’d take the fish.”
“Okay, Lance Fielding. Don’t tell me that he’s not easy on the eyes. Plus, the guy’s over the moon for you. The last time I took Sinbad in to see him, he kept asking about you.”
Sinbad is Maggie’s rather plump and ornery calico cat. My words come rushing out. “I’ll never again date a veterinarian. He smells like a wet dog.”
“You’re ruthless,” she cackles. “No wonder you’re still single.”
The jab hits its mark, stinging like a scorpion. “I refuse to settle,” I vow through gritted teeth. “Besides, I leave for Italy tomorrow. There’s no time to invite anyone.”
“Sure there is. You’re a hot little number. I’m sure any of the guys I mentioned would jump at the chance to go with you.”
I’m not sure how I feel about my best friend calling me a hot little number. “I’m not taking anyone to Italy,” I state firmly. “I’m doing this on my own.”
Worry hangs in Maggie’s voice. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
I frown. “What’re you trying to say? You don’t think I have it in me to face Owen?” Frankly, it’s an insult that she thinks so little of me.
“It’s not you facing him that I worry about.” She pauses for significance. “It’s the resisting him that’s your Achilles heel.”
I narrow my eyes. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
“Why’s that?” Maggie asks warily.
“Because Owen’s not begging me back.” The words slice and dice with the precision of a hibachi chef as they come out of my lips. Tears spring to my eyes, blurring my vision. I blink, trying to tamp down the emotion. It’s pathetic that I’m giving Owen Calhoun this much control over me. I straighten my spine, my jaw going hard. “Owen will probably bring his new girlfriend with him, so you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”
“I do worry,” she counters emphatically. “You and Owen have never been good for one another.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Even when y’all were together, you were miserable … always worried about him leaving you.”
I state the obvious. “Duh, I was right to be concerned. He did leave me.”
“Yes, the writing was on the wall. Owen is one of those restless souls who was never gonna be happy leading a normal life. He craves the spotlight too much.”
“Actually, he prefers to stay behind the scenes,” I point out.
“You’re splitting hairs here. He wants bigger things than Pascagoula.”
An all-too-familiar melancholy settles like a lead ball in my stomach. Maggie’s right. The crazy and pathetic part is that I would’ve followed Owen anywhere. Yes, I love my career, but I loved him more. I was always supportive of his ambitions. I would’ve gladly gone to LA with him … had he asked. He was everything to me. Why was I not enough for him? That’s the question that haunts me.
“You know what I think?”
I roll my eyes. “No, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”
She doesn’t skip a beat. “I think your feelings for Owen are wrapped up with your childhood, and the loss you experienced when Rhett left and then your parents died.”
Maggie hit the nail on the head. Didn’t I just think something similar a few minutes ago? I lost my mom to cancer and my dad to a heart attack. All in the same year. “Don’t forget my grandmother. I lost her, too.”
“Yes, you did.” She talks faster, growing more insistent. “The point is that you think you’re in love with Owen, but you’re really just trying to heal the wounded part of you that misses your family.”
I grunt. “So now you’re a psychologist?”
“Think about it. I know I’m right,” she says smugly. “Like I said, you and Owen are not good for each other. You never were. He’s off finding his own life. It’s time for you to do the same.”
“I am finding my life,” I grumble.
She chuckles dryly. “Sure you are. That’s why you can’t commit to anyone. You can yack all you want about the flaws of the guys I mentioned, but there’s nothing wrong with them. Not really. Well, except for Marcus Stubblefield. He really is a meathead. Anyway, the point is that this is about you and how you need to get over Owen. If you’ll just open your eyes, you might just discover that the right man is out there.”
I’m so done with this conversation. “When I find the right man, I’ll know it.” Maggie can be a big know-it-all.
Her voice rises. “No, you won’t. Not until you settle this thing with Owen.”
I grit my teeth. “One minute, you’re urging me to snag some guy and drag him to Italy, and the next, you’re telling me to settle things with Owen. Which is it?”
“I just want you to be careful. Whatever you do, don’t let Owen hurt you again.” She hesitates. “When he broke things off and left, you were so low. I don’t wanna see you like that again.” Her voice quivers. “It scared me.”
My heart thuds dully in my chest like a deflated ball. It scared me too. In fact, I’ve never been so scared. Maybe I should cancel the Italy trip. This has bad idea written all over it. “You make me sound so pathetic.” Moisture rises in my eyes. I don’t want to have these feelings for Owen. I wish I could dissect him from my heart and my memories … and still have something worthwhile left. A part of me is still hopelessly in love with him, and the other part despises him for leaving. “I need to let you go.”
Her tone goes pleading. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I wouldn’t say these things if I didn’t care.”
I swallow hard. “I’ll talk to you later. Gotta go.” I end the call before she can say anything else. For several seconds, I sit, staring at nothing as I clutch my phone tightly in my lap.
For better or worse, I will have to face Owen. Soon.
I stuff my emotions into a box and seal the lid shut.
How would I react if, by some miracle, Owen would want me back?
The instant the thought surfaces, I squelch it like a pesky bug that has spent too much time crawling around in my shoe. As Maggie said, Owen and I have never been good for one another.
The faster I get that through my skull, the better off I’ll be.
