If You Must Know (Potomac Point #1)(42)

“Really? I bet we both want someone who likes us as we are. Who gets us, supports our dreams, and, most important, is great in bed . . .” She wiggled her eyebrows.

I chuckled from surprise. “So you don’t miss Max? You’re not even a little lonely here by yourself?”

“Not really.” She paused, wrecking my grand plan. “If anything, I wish I’d dumped him before he dwindled my bank account. I’m not sure I can afford to sign a new lease this month, which puts me in a bind. I mean, there aren’t many cheaper places in town that lack hypodermic needles lying about, you know?” She laughed and gulped some tea.

I didn’t find her predicament funny. It did, however, confirm that my plan would benefit both her and my mom. “Maybe there’s a solution that could help you and Mom, although you could never tell her that we cooked it up together.”

“Cooked what up?” Her gaze narrowed.

“Well, what if you moved back home for a couple of months? You’d save money, and you could help me make sure Mom doesn’t hurt herself or get too depressed. I mean, with Dad gone, she’s lonely.”

“Mom and me under one roof without a buffer won’t work. She barely likes me.” That belief—the sole crack in Erin’s confident armor—made a brief appearance before she shrugged it off. Years ago I might’ve considered her attitude babyish. After all, I dealt with her being Dad’s favorite forever without complaining. But now I understood the difference. Dad might not have adored me as he did Erin, but he never picked on me as Mom did my sister.

“That’s not true. She just doesn’t understand why you don’t care about her opinions. And you aren’t exactly patient with her, either. Maybe it’d be good for you two to spend this time together.”

Erin stared into space. “I mean, it is pretty bad if she’s passing out in the yard.”

“And burning pots on the stove.”

“Really?” Erin grimaced. “That’s dangerous.”

“I know. But she can never know we think she needs a babysitter. Can you let her believe she’s doing you the favor—financially?” I flashed my most pleading eyes. “We already lost Dad. I don’t want something to happen to Mom, too.”

Erin stretched her arms across the table and pressed her forehead to its surface before pulling back. “I could use an extra six hundred bucks in my pocket each month, but, my God, I can’t imagine living in that house without Dad.”

We stared at each other for a beat or two, tethered by silent, shared heartache.

I cleared my throat before patting her hand. “That’ll be hard. But you both loved him so much. Start with that common ground.”

Erin was close to capitulating. I could feel it, and I wasn’t prone to that sort of thing.

She shook her head. “I couldn’t take the humiliation or her rejection.”

“Let me broach it like it’s my idea. I think she’ll actually enjoy feeling useful . . . and it’d just be until she gets back to normal.”

“If she and I don’t kill each other first.” Erin rolled her eyes.

“I’ll be the ref.”

“Refs are supposed to remain neutral . . .” She cocked a brow at me, calling me out for often taking Mom’s side. “Gosh, I don’t know. My stomach’s already queasy from the thought.”

“Dad would want us to watch out for her.” I’d never been this manipulative, but Erin couldn’t resist that plea. She’d thank me later.

She glanced at Mo, who’d climbed up onto the back of the sofa to stare out the window. “Mo would love the fenced-in backyard and the shade of the sycamore.”

I felt a pang because when she and Dad had planted it eons ago, he’d envisioned lazy summer days in its shade.

“Let me talk to Mom.” I’d wait an hour and then call Erin with the green light. “If it works out, I’ll help you pack.”

“You shouldn’t lift heavy stuff.” She turned to scan her small apartment. “I might leave most things behind anyway. I mean, the prior tenant left that couch when I rented the place. I could sell my bed and other stuff, pocket the cash, and move into our old room for a while.”

I nodded enthusiastically because I hated almost everything in this apartment. After she saved money, I’d help her shop for new—or gently used—stuff. “Okay. Let me go work some magic on Mom. I’ll call you later.”

She stopped me when I stood to leave. “Hold up. Have you heard back from the PI?”

“Not yet.” I unbuttoned the top button of my shirt and tugged at the collar. “He’s checking on the deed, among other things.”

“I’m sure you’ll hear something soon.”

I shrugged, wishing I could feel a fraction of her eagerness, which told me something I didn’t want to acknowledge about my husband and our relationship.

“I’m sorry. I wish I . . .” She hesitated, appearing to weigh her words. “I wish this wasn’t happening to you. You don’t deserve it.”

This was the second time she’d been almost desperately gentle with me, yet I felt more embarrassed than pleased.

“Fairness never factors much into my life.” That wasn’t sour grapes but a simple acknowledgment that I’d worked harder for things most other people took for granted. “Meanwhile, Lyle should’ve been home days ago. People are asking questions, making it hard to keep the truth quiet.”