by Vi Keeland
Ford rubbed his nose with mine. “You like me and don’t want other women seeing me naked.”
“I get the feeling you’ve already seen that particular woman naked.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Glad to hear that.”
“Jealousy means you give a shit.”
“Well, of course I give a shit.”
His face turned serious. “Do you think that’s going to change in a week or two?”
God, he was right. The summer was racing to a close, and I couldn’t imagine not seeing him anymore, much less walking away. He’d have plenty of women to take my place.
“No, I’m sure it won’t.”
“It doesn’t have to.”
I frowned. If only it were that easy.
He lowered his head and brushed his lips to mine. “Not too late to change your mind. Maybe you need a few Post-it reminders around the house of what this feels like.”
Something told me I wouldn’t need a sticky to remember how this summer made me feel. On the contrary, I might need something really potent to make me forget.
Chapter 23
* * *
Ford
I smiled, looking up at the old warehouse. I could definitely understand my dad’s excitement over it now. My parents had bought this landmark building in an estate auction. The time Dad and I spent working on the plans to restore and renovate it were some of my best memories of him.
I knew the building so intimately from photos and drawings, yet I’d never been inside. There was always one reason or another why I couldn’t make the trip to check on things out here in Chicago. But it had never felt like a rush—because we had plenty of time. Until suddenly we didn’t anymore.
Selling the building a few months after my Dad died had been difficult. But when an offer for more than we’d paid for it fell into my lap, it seemed like I didn’t have a choice. Still, fate had a way of bringing things that were meant to be back to you sometimes.
Like Valentina.
And this place.
A white BMW pulled up in front of the building and parked. Louise Marie Anderson had a picture on her business card in my dad’s rolodex, so when the driver got out of the car, I was pretty certain it was her. She smiled as she walked toward me.
“I don’t have to ask who you are. You’re the spitting image of your dad.” She reached out her hand. “Louise Anderson. But my friends call me Andi.”
I smiled. “My dad referred to you as Andi, so I’ll take that as a good sign.”
After she shook my hand, she didn’t let go. She wrapped her other hand around mine. “I was so sorry about the loss of your parents. They were such good people.”
I nodded. “Thank you. My sister and I appreciated the flowers you sent. It was very thoughtful.”
“Of course.” She shook her head. “I used to melt at the way your dad looked at your mom—the way they were always holding hands. They seemed like two teenagers in love.”
My brows drew down. “I didn’t realize you’d met my mom. We always joked around that Dad had a girlfriend here because neither of us got to come on his trips to Chicago.”
“Oh, no. She came here quite a few times. In fact, when they first came to look at this building—must’ve been seven years ago now—the thing they loved most was the top floor. They’d talked about making it into an apartment for themselves.”
Huh. I guess my mom didn’t want me to feel bad that I could never go with Dad on his trips. That would be just like my parents, though—to want to make a little love nest for themselves in a building they bought.
When they were alive, their constant touchy-feely had been sort of gross to me—they were my parents. But for some reason, after they passed away, those were among my most treasured memories.
“Well…I’m looking forward to seeing the place. I can’t get over that it’s back on the market in such a short time.”
“Divorce.” She nodded. “Hate to say it, but probably seventy-five percent of my repeat property sales are due to a breakup.”
Andi and I toured the empty building. It was such an odd feeling to walk through the space Dad and I had spent so many years working on. When I’d decided to come check it out, I thought expanding to Chicago as Dad had planned to do and building our dream conversion project would bring me some sort of closure. I’d always regretted having to sell this building. But being here brought a dull ache to my chest and made my shoulders feel like I was carrying a barbell with a hundred pounds of weights.
The building was eleven stories, so it took us a while to walk through. By the time we got to the top floor, the place my parents had imagined making into theirs, I was starting to feel like I needed some fresh air.
I tugged at my tie and loosened it as I followed Andi around. She pointed to a wall of windows. “These are old, obviously. And not very heat efficient for Chicago winters. But Marie loved them. She told Michael she wanted to have them made into doors to use inside the space as room separators. I’m not sure how easy that is to do, but he seemed to love the idea.”
I didn’t know my dad had brought an interior designer in. “Marie? Would you happen to have her contact info? I hadn’t realized he’d started working with an interior designer already. We’d only done the layout of the conversion together, not any decorating.”
Andi laughed. “Your mom, Marie…not an outside designer.”
“My mom’s name was Athena.” It wasn’t a name people heard too often outside of Greek History class.
“Really?” Her brows drew down. “I could swear we had a whole conversation about how we had the same name in reverse. I’m Louise Marie, and she said she was Marie Louise.”
The real estate agent looked confused, and then abruptly seemed almost flustered. She shook her head and turned to walk to the other side of the room.
“Umm… That’s right. I’m…confusing her with another client. I’m so sorry about that…Athena...right.”
People made mistakes with names all the time. Hell, I didn’t remember most people’s names thirty seconds after I met them. But something about Andi told me she hadn’t made any mistake. Though, that made no sense.
My head was definitely screwing with me here—all the memories of the time Dad and I had spent together working on this building. I let the funny feeling I had pass in favor of finishing the tour. Outside, I gulped fresh air into my lungs.
“So the seller is looking to get out clean—pay what he paid and walk away. But I have a feeling there might be some wiggle room. Between us, it’s not a very amicable divorce, and I think a fast sale and not dragging out separating assets might make them willing to take it at a small loss.”
I nodded, but felt wiped out for some reason. I was glad I’d decided to stay in town tonight to walk through with a building engineer tomorrow because I had a feeling half of what I saw today might be a blur by morning. My emotions were really screwing with me.
“Would you like any suggestions for dinner or anything?” Andi asked after she locked the front door. She still seemed slightly off—almost standoffish or nervous.
“No, thank you. The hotel has a restaurant in it, and I’ll probably just eat there.”
“Okay…so…I’ll see you at nine tomorrow?”
I nodded. “Nine o’clock. Thanks for the tour today.”
I got into my rental car and watched as Andi pulled away. Rather than start the car, I rested my head on the headrest for a few minutes with my eyes closed. I took a few deep breaths, but couldn’t shake the screwed-up feeling in my gut.
So I picked up the phone and called the accounting manager at my office. “Hey, Dan. It’s Ford. Do we still have my parents’ expense reports from years ago?”
“We keep six years of records in one of the storage units. IRS can generally go back and audit you for the last three years, but if they find a substantial error, they can go back six. Your dad liked to stay on the safe side, especially since he certainly had the storage spac
e. Do you need something?”
“Think you can pull both my dad and my mom’s expense reports and see if my mom ever came on any of my dad’s trips to Chicago?”
“Yeah. Sure. Give me a few hours.”
“Thanks, Dan.”
***
Some thoughts are like a loose thread in a sweater. You can either pull it and chance unraveling the entire thing, or cut it off and move on. When Andi said my mom had come to Chicago with my dad on more than one occasion, it was a loose thread. But I cut it off and moved on, able to chalk it up to my mom not wanting me to feel badly that she got to come see the project I had worked on for years.
But then another thread came loose when Andi said my mother’s name was Marie Louise—she’d sounded so certain. And the second time, I couldn’t just cut the thread and move on. I’d pulled, and now it felt like I was waiting for my entire world to unravel.
After I’d checked into my hotel, I’d gone to the gym to work off some of my unsettled energy and then showered. Now I was sitting at the bar of the restaurant. My phone finally rang just as I got my burger.
“Hey, Dan.”
“Hey, Ford.”
“Did you find anything?”
“I checked all the expense reports we had, and we have no record of your mom ever taking a trip to Chicago. Their assistant made all their reservations and did their expense reports for the company—not likely she’d miss something, but I suppose it’s possible.”
My chest started to hurt, and I rubbed at it. “Any chance you remember if we had hired an interior designer in Chicago? I’m up here looking at the building we used to own—it came back on the market.”
Dan had been with the company as long as I’d been alive and remembered everything.
“Your dad was pretty good about not spending on projects before the official construction began. You never know when you might get problems from the building department that change all your plans.”
I nodded. That was definitely true. I was just about to let him off the phone. Maybe Andi was wrong about everything with my dad, and I was pulling at a thread that just needed to be snipped. It honestly seemed ridiculous to think what I’d been thinking.
I laughed. “You’re right, Dan. Thanks a lot.”
“No problem. If you’re considering buying the building back, you might want to check in with your dad’s lawyer up there. I remember there was a zoning issue she’d worked on for him before the purchase—not sure if the current owner changed zoning back. But that’s something to look into if you decide to go forward.”
I nodded. This is why my parents paid Dan more than the average accounting manager—his mind was a steel trap.
“Thanks, Dan. Any chance you remember the attorney’s name?”
“Landsford, I think. Let me look it up in the computer. We would have cut her a check, and she’ll be in our vendor list. Hang on a second.”
My shoulders relaxed, and I reached down for the burger in front of me. Suddenly, my appetite had returned. Dan came back on the line just as I bit into it.
“Yeah, it was Landsford. Marie Louise Landsford, Esquire, is who we made the check out to.”
Marie Louise.
I almost choked on my burger.
“You want me to email you her contact information?” he asked.
I managed to force down the mouthful of food, yet it still felt like I had a lump in my throat after I swallowed. “Yeah. That would be helpful. Thanks, Dan.”
***
I didn’t tend to be a nervous person.
The last time I’d felt this way was when I stood in front of the judge and told him I wanted legal custody of my fourteen-year-old sister. I wasn’t nervous that I was making the wrong decision—I was nervous that he’d say I wasn’t qualified or that my sister would be better off in foster care or with my aunt in Ohio.
But as I sat in my car, parked on Superior Street in front of the storefront law office of Marie Louise Landsford, Esquire, my palms were sweaty and my stomach was tied in a knot. It felt as though I could bend over and toss my breakfast, only I hadn’t had anything to eat since the one bite of burger last night. My eyes also itched, though that could be from lack of sleep and not nerves. I could feel my heartbeat all over—ricocheting against my chest, swooshing through my ears, even in my throat.
My phone buzzed in my pocket—a text from Valentina. I’d exchanged a few messages with her last night, but didn’t mention anything about my father or what was going on. I couldn’t even admit it to myself, much less say the words out loud to someone else. I also hadn’t mentioned I’d blown off the appointment I was supposed to have with the engineer this morning. The only thing she knew was that I’d pushed back my flight to meet with an attorney about zoning. Which was sort of true, I guess. At least that was what I planned to say when I walked into her office without an appointment. I had no plans beyond that. I couldn’t even think about what I might say, or how I might ask her.
Valentina: Good luck with the attorney today, and have a safe flight home later. Let me know what train you’re on in the morning, and I’ll pick you up. I have a little surprise for you.
I stared at my cell like the words were gibberish. There was no way I could possibly text back. Instead, I shoved the phone into my pocket. I just needed to get this shit over with.
I got out of the car, took a deep breath, and headed for the door.
A woman about my age was sitting behind a reception desk. She smiled. “Hi. Can I help you?”
“Yeah. Ummm. I don’t have an appointment, but I was hoping maybe I could speak to Marie.”
“Can I ask what this is in reference to?”
“I’m considering buying a building in the area, and she did some work for my father on it previously.”
“Oh. Okay.” She motioned toward a closed door to her left. “She’s with a client right now, but she should be finished any minute. As soon as she gets done, I’ll ask her if she can speak with you.”
“Thanks,”
“Can I have your name, please?”
“Ford. Ford Donovan.”
If my last name meant anything to the receptionist, she didn’t show it. She told me to take a seat, and I sat on a leather couch and pretended to thumb through a copy of Architectural Digest. A few minutes later, the door to Marie’s office opened. My heart, which had already been beating fast, took off like a runaway train. An older man in a suit walked out first, talking to someone behind him.
“I think once we send over these last revisions, they’ll finally sign the contract,” a woman’s voice said.
I still couldn’t see her.
“Good. Good. I’m anxious to get this all behind me.”
The man took a few steps, and the woman who’d been speaking appeared in the doorway.
“I’ll be in touch soon.”
Seeing her for the first time, I froze. What the hell? I knew her. But from where? I flipped through a mental rolodex of where I might’ve seen her before. I was absolutely positive we’d met. But I’d never come to Chicago.
The client made his way to the front door, and the attorney took a few steps toward the receptionist, who turned to speak to her.
“I didn’t want to interrupt since you were almost finished with Mr. Wetson, but you have a walk-in.”
Marie looked over to the seating area for the first time. I stood. The minute her eyes landed on me, her entire face changed. Her jaw dropped open, her eyes drooped with sadness, and all of her color drained away.
Completely oblivious, the receptionist kept talking. “You’ve done some work for his family before. He doesn’t have an appointment, but you have a half hour before your next one.”
That pale, sorrow-filled face—it clicked. The funeral! She’d come to my parents’ funeral. That weekend was mostly a blur—there had been so many friends who came and went. For two days, I’d spent the majority of my time standing and shaking people’s hands. I couldn’t have repeated what anyone had actuall
y said if my life depended on it.
But I remembered seeing her. She’d been sitting on a chair in the back corner all by herself, crying. She’d looked really distraught, so I’d gone over to see if she was okay. It was the first time I’d met her, but that didn’t strike me as unusual. People came out of the woodwork to give their condolences at the funeral.
I walked over to where Marie stood, still staring at me. The receptionist turned as I approached. “Oh. Here he is. Marie, this is….”
Marie smiled sadly and shook her head. Her voice was solemn and her tone resigned. “I know who he is. Hello, Ford.”
I nodded, unable to say anything.
Marie tilted her head toward her door. “Why don’t we talk in my office?”
I nodded and followed her inside. She closed the door after telling the receptionist to cancel her next meeting and hold her calls.
Walking around to the other side of her desk, she held her hand out. “Please, have a seat.”
I kept staring at her even as I sat.
She settled into her chair and shuffled some papers that didn’t need shuffling on her desk. Speaking softly, she said, “How are you doing?”
“Fine.”
She nodded. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”
I stared at her. I honestly didn’t need to ask the question, the guilt and sadness on her face told me most of the answers. So I skipped over the bullshit and went to the stuff I didn’t already know.
“How long were you two having an affair?”
She looked down. “About three years.”
Jesus Christ. Three fucking years? I thought back to the last summers out in Montauk before they died. My parents had been dancing and as in love as ever. I nodded. “Why?”
She sighed. “It just happened. Neither of us planned it. I was happily married, too. At least I thought I was at the time.”
“Was?”
She nodded. “I told my husband about the affair after I came home from the funeral. I couldn’t hide how upset I was, and I knew our marriage was over. I’d been unfair to him for a long time. We’ve been divorced for a few years now.”