Worth the Risk(41)

Parenting is a succession of brutal decisions, each one tougher than the last, with the only goal being not to fuck up your kid any more than you already have.

It’s much later, after I’ve had a couple of beers and sat on the porch swing alone, that I crawl into bed beside my son with the knowledge that no matter what Claire did or didn’t do, I have one thing to be thankful to her for.

Luke.

He’s the reason I keep fighting.





“You should take the rest of the day off, Rissa. I’ll cover the office.”

She looks at me as if I’ve grown two heads. “Why?”

“Because the third round of voting is a go. We’ve already had more traffic in the first few hours than we did in the first week of last round’s vote. And because . . . because it’s sunny outside. Do we need another reason?”

“Maybe because you’re trying to get me out of here so I don’t call you on the carpet and ask why Grayson’s bio is the same one I saw you working on in longhand and the photo is from the party?” She lifts her eyebrows and meets my gaze. “Perhaps?”

“Perhaps, but it was simply a matter of circumstance. We didn’t get him on board until too late and”—the look she gives me stops me in my tracks—“and I’ll stop my excuse about now.” She gives a measured nod. “I can’t control someone else. All I can do is cajole and persuade and inform and do my best. So, while I try to get all that to work, I’m busy trying to master all the other things you’ve told me are important to know.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and leans back in her chair. “Such as?”

“Edie is showing me the process by which she goes through editing content. Fran has put together a little tutorial on graphics and resizing because I struggle there, and in turn, I’m explaining how I track my progress through the statistics, so she understands. Then there’s—”

“Point made, Sidney.” She shakes her head. “On that note, I’m heading home.”

She doesn’t waste any time grabbing her stuff and heading to the door before something happens that I can’t handle and change my mind.

For the rest of the afternoon, I sit and watch the numbers the first day of voting brings in. I stay and make sure that nothing goes wrong with the site—no glitches or missing links or whatever else could go wrong. By the time I’m happy that we’ve had a successful launch and am ready to leave, I realize I don’t want to go home to an empty house. An empty house means I’ll end up working. Working means I’ll think of Grayson.

And Grayson is . . . who knows what Grayson is, other than a jerk for what he said to me yesterday.

Normally after a great day, Zoey and I would live it up some. Go out for drinks and a night on the town. Dance with some men, and maybe end up with one when closing time came.

I may not have Zoey by my side, and I may have no interest in taking some random guy home with me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t go out and have a drink, right?

I force myself to leave, if only because I refuse to spend the night at the office doing the exact thing I’m worried I’d do alone at my house.

As I drive through downtown Sunnyville, with its rustic storefronts where the word “wine” can be seen somewhere in every window display, I realize my night on the town most definitely is not going to happen here. But I park the car under the big banner advertising the upcoming Harvest Festival and get out to walk around like the many tourists milling about. I poke my head into a few stores, buy some handmade soap, get a bouquet of flowers, and pick up a cute bracelet to send Zoey for her birthday.

A few people smile knowingly at me, as if they are asking with their eyes if the gossip column is true, but I feign that I don’t see them so I don’t have to acknowledge the question.

“Sidney!” I turn to find Cathy stepping out from the nail salon I just passed.

“Hey.”

“We need to stop meeting like this on the street.” She laughs as she glances to her freshly painted toes, which still have twisted paper towels between them so her polish doesn’t smudge. “Or else gossip around town is going to be that we’re streetwalkers.” Her eyes widen as she waits for me to get the joke, and then she laughs even louder when I just shake my head.

“Cute, but more rumors are the last thing I need.”

“Sometimes they’re good for the soul.”

Moving on . . .

“How are you?”

“I’m good. I’m good.” Someone across the street calls out to her, and she waves before turning back to me. “But not as good as you’re doing, I see.”

Yeah, I should have known better than to think she would drop it. “The newspaper.”

“The newspaper.” She nods. “You made a lot of ladies in that line awfully pissed that a newcomer snagged the last Malone and not one of us.” I opt to ignore the “newcomer” comment since she knows I did, in fact, grow up here, and her distinctive laugh sounds off. People walking by turn their heads at its cadence, and I duck my head slightly.

“I didn’t snag him. It really was just a picture taken at the right time, and—”

“Oh, honey, you don’t have to make excuses to me. This whole town is abuzz with the news.” She pats my arm. “How did you think I knew you were out here? Ol’ Patsy from the soap shop said something to Kira as she was walking by, and then Kira came into the nail salon. It’s like the grown-up game of telephone in these parts.”