He sighed. "That's got Scooter written all over it."
"Speaking of Scooter..." I blushed, thinking of the rumors he had spread about me all those years ago.
"Ancient history," Nicholas said shortly, before I had a chance to say another word, and gave me a tight smile. "Did you do a title search when you bought the property?"
"Uh, no," I said sheepishly. "Loretta and I kind of managed it as a personal transaction, to cut agent commission costs."
He grimaced. "That's not good news."
My heart sank. "Is there anything I can do? My understanding is that she owned the place outright, or I never would have bought it."
"She signed a quitclaim deed?"
I nodded.
"So you at least own half of it," he said. "Presuming the will split the property between them."
"That's good news, right?"
"It's not the worst-case scenario, anyway. But Agatha would still own the other half."
"Great," I said.
He looked down at his shirt and pants, and then glanced at his phone. "I hate to run, but I probably should head home and change; I've got a meeting in thirty minutes."
"Oh... I'm sorry to hold you up."
"No worries," he said, with the lopsided grin that had captured my heart back in eighth grade. "I'll see what I can dig up on your case," he added as he picked up his coffee cup and deposited it into a nearby trash can.
"I really appreciate it," I told him. "See you soon." I started back on my way with Winston.
"Oh, and Max?" he called after I'd moved on about ten steps.
"Yes?" I asked, whirling around.
"I'm glad you're back in town," he said, and my heart turned over in my chest.
By the time I got home, my heart rate had almost returned to normal, and as I opened the door to my still-boxed-up kitchen, I was caught between floating on cloud nine and falling into a pit of despair. It was a weird place to be.
I'd just finished changing out of my coffee-stained clothes and fixing my hair in the mirror (still a big lump, much to my embarrassment), when my cell phone burbled in the back pocket of the jeans I'd recently changed out of. I managed to pull it out of the pocket and answer it just before it went to voicemail. It was my daughter, Audrey.
12
"Mom?" she said, voice tentative.
"Hey, Audrey," I said. "How's the summer job treating you?"
"Fine," she said. She was interning at a local non-profit, I knew. "I talked to Dad last night," she said cautiously.
"Oh?" I asked.
"Yeah. He mentioned you two, uh, ran into each other at the store's grand opening."
"We did," I confirmed. There was a moment of silence.
"Sorry I didn't tell you," she finally blurted. "It's just... I didn't want to get in the middle of it, and it's so awkward, and I don't know what I think, and..."
My heart melted, and I sat down on the foot of my unmade air mattress, sinking almost all the way to the floor. I eyed my real mattress, which was propped up against the wall, and vowed to make at least some progress in my living space that evening. "It's okay, sweetheart. We're all finding our way through this. I understand how awkward it must be for you."
"You do? Really? It's just... I don't know what to do. I mean, she's nice and all, and Dad seems happy—they're like high schoolers, oh my gosh, I shouldn't have just told you that—but it's so weird!"
My heart twisted a little, but I reassured her. "I get it," I told her. "It's weird for me, too. But we both love you so much, and I really am glad he's doing okay." Even if he was now going by Theodore.
"I just felt so bad meeting her and not telling you about it... I feel like such an awful daughter, and…"
"No." I stopped her mid-sentence. "You don't need to get involved in what happens between Dad and me. That's our job," I said.
"Really?"
"Really," I said. "And that goes for your sister, too."
"Thanks," she said, and I could hear the relief in her voice. "She's mad, but she really does love you; I think she'll come around."
"Thanks," I said. "Is everything going okay for her?"
"It is," she said. "She's just… adjusting. Is my puppy doing okay?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Winston is great," I said, looking down at his smiling face. "We just got back from a walk."
"I'll bet he loves all the new smells." She knew our little dog well. "I miss him so much. How did the opening go?"
"Fine," I said.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"What? Nothing."
"I know better than that. Spill it. Is it what's going on with Dad?"
"No," I said, truthfully. "It's just some bureaucratic red tape, is all."
"Bureaucratic red tape?"
"I'm sure I'll get it worked out."
"Whatever it is, it sounds bad. Are you sure you're okay?”
"It'll be fine," I said lightly, even though I wasn't sure it would be fine at all. But Audrey had enough on her plate right now; between coping with our divorce, figuring out how to be a college student and holding down her first job, she didn't need to be pulled into my drama. Although if they cuffed me and threw me in jail for murder, she might not have a choice.
Stop being dramatic, I chided myself; from what I knew of Cal, stronger suspects were thick on the ground. I'd only just met the man yesterday. I'd only been angry at him for 12 hours before I found him dead. Plenty of other people had evidently been mad at him for years.
Audrey spent the next ten minutes telling me about her job, and the weekend trip she was planning with friends,
