Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(99)
“You’ll be late for your flight.”
“I’ll only be a minute.”
Liz directed Trish down the street and told her where to park. “Keep the car running.”
She pursed her lips, squared her shoulders, prayed Carter wasn’t home and knocked on his door.
Just as she was about to try and slip the envelope underneath, the door swung wide. Liz popped up.
“John?”
“Liz? What are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same thing.”
John opened the door wider. “I’m helping out with some office stuff for Carter until his uncle is back on his feet. Mostly cleaning up.”
“You clean?”
He laughed, looking happier and younger than she’d seen him in years. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Yes. But, I don’t cook.”
“Now that I knew.”
She smiled, amazed she could have a semi-civil conversation with John without all the drama. Would wonders never cease? “Can I come in?” she asked. “I wanted to drop off a letter. For Carter.”
“Heading out are you?” She nodded. “Put it in his office. It won’t get lost there.”
“Thanks.”
Liz pushed open the door John gestured to and stepped through.
The room smelled of Carter, a mixture of fresh air and hard work and sweet rebellion she recognized now as Twizzler. The combination made her feel like crying right then and there. She pushed the feelings down and sat in the desk chair for a moment, soaking in all that was Carter before pulling the letter of apology she’d written out of her purse.
She ran a hand over the envelope to smooth it, wishing for all the world she could make things right between them but knowing that wasn’t possible. She’d made too many mistakes.
He deserved more than a woman who couldn’t stand behind him or stand up for him.
She opened the drawer to retrieve a pen to write his name on the outside of the letter… and saw a large manila envelope marked “Beautification League of Sugar Falls.”
She frowned, feeling guilty, but the envelope wasn’t sealed, so she pulled out the paper inside.
He hadn’t submitted the bid? But the deadline was… today! Why wouldn’t he…?
And, then, all the self-doubt she’d heard him speak over the years washed over her in a wave. He didn’t think he could do it. He was afraid of making a mistake.
Well, she thought, take it from someone who has made mistakes. The only things worse than mistakes are regrets.
By the time she waved goodbye to John, she had the manila envelope tucked in her purse and was asking Trish to make one more stop…
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
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JUST AS SHE HAD FOR THE past three years, Liz filled Eddie’s dish with one precisely measured scoop of urinary-tract-health cat food then pulled a box of breakfast cereal from the kitchen cupboard.
She grimaced. It was the hemp/flax-seed/high-fiber cereal Grant had recommended a couple months ago. It tasted like cardboard with just enough organic sweeteners to make it so she didn’t reflexively spit it out, and she’d tried to make herself choke down a few spoonfuls each morning before she was entirely awake, but today she shoved it aside.
She craved swiss cake rolls.
Liz looked out at the morning and tried to muster the enthusiasm to go in to the office.
Aunt Claire was right. She needed a new plan.
Eddie leapt to the table and settled bread-loaf style on the placemat in front of her. She’d worried at one point she’d need to retrain Eddie to pretend to be well-mannered. Eddie raised one leg and started to clean himself.
It depressed her knowing no one would object.
She patted his head and pushed out of her chair. She stared out the window onto the street below as she prepared coffee. How strange that just over a month ago she’d been imagining her wedding to Grant while standing in this very spot.
Now, she and Grant were kaput, Grant and Ethan were starting their own firm, and Liz had been offered Ethan’s position. It represented a huge promotion. They expected her answer today.
Dum. Dum. De-dum. Dum-de-dum-de-dum-de-DUM…
Liz bit her lip. She hadn’t taken her mother’s calls since that night at the hospital. She hadn’t wanted to face it all, hadn’t wanted to try and explain what a mess her life was.
But she couldn’t wallow in self-pity forever.
She sucked in a long breath, held the phone away from her ear and braced herself. “Hello?”
“Liz?”
“Dad?” Liz held the phone closer. “Dad? What’s wrong? Is it mom? Aunt Claire?”
“Shh. Nothing’s wrong. We’re good. I’m calling to check on you.” He paused. “How are you, Chickie?”
Her chest felt tight and she tried to deny anything was wrong, but he’d caught her off-guard. He hadn’t called her Chickie since that day so many years ago when he’d found her sobbing into her pillow because a certain boy was going to the prom with the wrong girl.
“Not good, Dad,” she finally said. “Not good at all.”
“I’m sorry, Chickie.”
That’s all he said. I’m sorry, Chickie.
I’m sorry.
When he’d said those words to her all those years ago, she’d felt fragile as glass—hurt and sad and embarrassed—but there’d been a quiet strength in her father, as if he was trying to tell her that what she felt right now wasn’t going to be the way she’d always feel. The future was sure to be brighter. And, somewhere out there the right man would recognize what a wonderful, shining star she was inside and all this heartache would be a distant memory. That’s what she’d heard, anyway, when he’d said it before.