If You Must Know (Potomac Point #1)(32)

“What did you say to Dodo?” Her terseness made me start.

“That I was thinking of canceling the shower.”

“Now she thinks I’m a terrible mother for not taking better care of you, and she’s pressing me to host this shower here. Oh, I could just strangle Lyle.”

I literally bit down on my tongue to keep from lashing out. I’d only tried to help her by canceling the shower. Couldn’t she see that everything wasn’t about her? She had a lot at stake—I got that—but I could use some comfort, too. “I’m sorry. I’ll call her later and take the bullet, okay?”

“No, I’ll handle Dodo. I’m fed up with how she bosses me around as if I’m a child.”

Dodo’s dictatorial tone could be draining, but she cared about us. “She’s been worried about you since Dad died, Mom. It’s sweet.”

“You always give everyone the benefit of the doubt.” Her tone proved that wasn’t a compliment.

If I didn’t believe that most people meant well, there’d be no point in investing in any relationship. “Speaking of that, Lyle finally called me this morning. He’s sending me the deed to the land he bought. The PI promised to double-check it along with all the other information he gathered today.”

For several seconds, nothing—not a grunt, gasp, or peep of any kind—came through the line.

“That must’ve been a hard conversation. Are you okay? What did Lyle say about Ebba?” My mother mispronounced the name, giving it a long-e sound.

“He’s torn . . .” A lump strangled my throat. “I can’t talk about this now, Mom. I’m exhausted.”

“Oh, honey. I remember how hard it was, being in love with your dad while he was still getting over Patty.” She sighed. I appreciated her empathy, although our situations were hardly similar. “Persistence paid off, though. Drink lots of water and get plenty of rest.”

“I will.” I wandered to my sofa and sank against the pillows. “Have you spoken with Erin about Dad’s records?”

“No, why? Did she ruin them?” Mom clucked at the other end of the line. “How like her . . . so disorganized.”

“No, Mom. Max stole them. Erin filed a police report today.”

“Oh! William’s records gone, too?” The emphasis on “too” broke my heart. Despite her empathy, she wasn’t about to accept anything Lyle told me at face value. That my husband could be worse than Max made me cringe. While I’d always hoped to find some common ground with my sister, our poor taste in men was not what I’d had in mind.

Projecting more confidence than I felt, I said, “It’s been a terrible week, but let’s hold on to hope. You know Rodri will hunt Max down for Erin, so the albums will be recovered. And Lyle has a proven track record in real estate. This project will come together, and you’ll get your money back.”

“That still leaves Dodo. She cannot learn any of this, or I’ll never hear the end of it. Truly, she’ll blab to the whole family.” Mom paused, probably projecting to cousin Sue’s inevitable snark without concern for how she was adding to my burden. “I wish your father were here . . .”

So did I.

These past few days, a little gap had opened between my mom and me. A fall from grace on my part. Collateral damage from Lyle’s behavior. All my life, she’d been the one person whose approval I could count on. I couldn’t stand to lose it, too, yet could hardly blame her, given the situation. “I could use some company today. Would you like to bake a pie or something?”

“A pie?” She sounded confused, then sighed. “I guess that would be nice.”

“I’ll swing by the market and come to your house.” It might help to be together in her kitchen, where we’d baked more treats than I could remember. My mom made the flakiest crust in the county—even had a blue ribbon to prove it. I couldn’t do squat about my marriage today, but I could protect the other relationship that I needed to be happy. “Blueberry sound good?”

“You know I love blueberry.”

The smile in her voice lifted a weight off my chest. “See you soon.”

While I changed into casual clothes, the doorbell rang. I made my way downstairs, stunned to see the Bon Fleur truck in my driveway.

The delivery woman handed me a lovely bouquet of pink roses exactly like the ones Lyle used to send to my classroom. My heart swelled with hope. “Oh, these are gorgeous. Thank you.”

“Have a nice day.” She waved before wandering back to her truck.

I closed the doors and took the flowers to the kitchen, adding more cold water and a couple of drops of bleach to preserve their freshness. With my nose buried in the petals, I wanted so badly to accept this gift as a good sign. Plucking the card from its plastic holder, I then took it from the envelope and read:

Amanda,

No matter what happens, I’ll always love you.

Deed will come from the lawyer soon.

Lyle

I crushed the card in my palm, heartbroken. The flowers hadn’t marked a decision. They were to keep me on ice or in limbo or whatever other words described this uncomfortable space of uncertainty.

Did he not understand how hurtful his gesture was? Perhaps I’d been wrong to think someone with his background capable of giving and accepting healthy love. He would probably argue that these flowers were a show of affection. That he could’ve left me dangling after that phone call with no further word.