The Life She Wants (2 page)

“You have no idea how much I'm looking forward to it.”

* * *

The guesthouse was actually a remodeled freestanding garage with a wall and large picture window where the doors once were. The window looked out onto a pleasant tree-lined street. It was a tiny, two-room bungalow with a small bathroom and galley kitchen. A patio separated the guesthouse from Penelope Pennington's two-bedroom house. “And of course you're welcome to use the patio at any time,” Penny assured her. “And if you ever have any serious cooking to do, feel free to borrow my kitchen.”

It was an attractive little arrangement. Penny had the driveway removed years before and now there was a carport and storage unit. In front of both little houses and on either side of the driveway and carport were two small patches of grass, shrubs, trees and flowers. From the patio one could reach Emma's little abode on the right or Penny's on the left. A tall, white fence with a gate bordered the property.

It took less than half an hour to unload Emma's small car. There wasn't much furniture in the bungalow—a bed and bureau, a small table and two chairs, a couple of lamps, a small sofa and two armchairs. She had her own bedding and kitchenware. She found the guesthouse quaint and cozy. Her boxes and suitcases had yet to be unpacked, but she didn't care. Lyle went off to a nearby market to get dinner, bringing Penny and Emma a huge Greek salad, some hummus, flatbread and a bottle of wine. They had their dinner at Penny's, sitting around her little dining table, and Emma loved her at once.

Then at last it was just Emma and Lyle, sitting in her cozy living room with a final glass of wine. She sat in a musty old overstuffed chair upholstered with a floral pattern, her feet up on an ottoman that didn't quite match. Lyle relaxed on the sofa, his feet up on the coffee table.

“This place really needs a fluff and buff,” he said.

“I love it,” she said. “I think this will be my reading chair.”

“How can you read with the flowers in that gaudy print screaming at you?”

She laughed at him.

“Have you given any thought to what kind of job you're going to get?” he asked.

“Well,” she said, taking a thoughtful sip. “I was considering being a life coach. What do you think?”

“You can certainly provide plenty of experience with what
not
to do,” he said.

“I can honestly say I haven't felt this relaxed in years,” she said.

Lyle was quiet for a moment. “Emmie, I don't know what it's going to be like for you around here. It's a quiet town, but not without its resident gossips and petty meanness. Know what I mean?”

“I grew up around here, remember?” she said. “No matter where I go, it's going to follow me. But I was never indicted for any crime. And believe me, they looked hard and long.”

“I just want you to be ready. In case.”

“In case people are nasty to me or snigger when I walk by? That's why I came here rather than trying to find some new place where I could be a stranger with a new identity—everyone figures it out eventually. Lies don't last—Richard was proof of that. Let's just get it over with. I was married to the late Richard Compton, the infamous broker and thief. There's no way to undo it. And I didn't have to think about it long—the stress of trying to keep it secret is something I'm just not up to. I could change my name, color my hair, even get a nose job if I had any money, but eventually everyone is going to know it's me. It's hopeless, Lyle—Google me and see for yourself.”

“Under Emma Shay?”

“And Emma Shay Compton, Emma Compton, Emma Catherine Shay.”

“Dear God,” he groaned. “I hope it dwindles away quickly,” he said.

“It's all on the record. Anyone who's curious is welcome to read all about it. There are even a couple of books, though they're not very accurate.”

“How'd he do it, Em?”

She knew exactly what he was talking about. Richard's suicide. She took a breath. She was surprised he hadn't just looked it up—it was splattered, like Richard's brains, across all the papers and internet news sites.

“After he'd attempted to run via a colleague's private jet with a fake passport, he was returned to jail and held without bond. The lawyers managed to negotiate house arrest with an ankle bracelet. After the guilty verdict was returned he tried to negotiate sentencing by giving up offshore account numbers, hoping to reduce his sentence. But no matter what, he was going to jail for a long time. He opened the hidden safe behind the bookcase in his home office, pulled out his loaded Glock and shot himself. In the head.”

Lyle shook his head. “He didn't want to go to prison...”

“I'm sure it was more than that,” she said. “Oh, there was no doubt prison would be horrendous, but that's not why he did it. There was no material wealth left. There were no more offshore or Swiss accounts. It was really over. He was going to go to prison for fifty years and even if he was paroled early or could escape, there was nothing to allow him to retire quietly in Aruba, or some other remote island. With his stash.” She sighed. “It was the most important thing to him. The wealth.”

“I'm surprised the police didn't know about the safe or the gun,” he said. “Didn't you say they searched the apartment?”

She shrugged. “I don't know if they ever saw it—they weren't looking for it. They confiscated his computers and lots of files from home and his office, all his electronics, but their warrant wasn't for things like guns or drugs. I didn't know about the gun.”

“Did he do anything at all to try to protect you?” Lyle asked.

She just shook her head.

“And after he was buried?”

“It was a couple of weeks yet until everything was gone and the paperwork on the auction and the sale of the apartment was final. I closed his office door and slept on a cot in the kitchen. It was the safest place for me. Marshals were watching the apartment and there was a doorman.” She made a face. “It was so horrible.”

“I'm only going to say this one more time, Emmie, then we're moving on. I'm just so, so sorry.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Listen, you go home. And tell Ethan that I appreciate how decent he's been and assure him I'm not going to be pestering the two of you. I found I do very well on my own. It's lovely to be near you, but you don't have to worry that this out-of-place girlfriend is going to be the needy type and make you feel invaded. I'm not going to be your third wheel.”

“We have some very nice friends, a lot of them gay men, and there are more than enough third wheels in our crowd. Don't worry about it. Call us whenever you feel like it.”

“You've been wonderful. You've always been a better friend to me than I've been to you,” she said.

“Not true. There've been very kind gestures here and there...”

“Shhhh,” she warned. Before the trouble began, she had a household budget that was ridiculously large and she economized, leaving her a nice balance. It was her money and she used some to help fund the start-up of Hello, Gorgeous. Best if no one ever knew. Lyle had been interviewed about their relationship, possibly even investigated, but had never been any kind of suspect. In fact, they didn't speak of it. Emma was fairly sure Ethan didn't even know the details.

“Suffice it to say, I'm glad you're here,” Lyle said. “I've missed you. And now there are a couple of things I should tell you. People have asked about you, which of course they would. But a couple of old friends have asked a few times recently. Asked what you would do now. Riley came into the shop and asked if you were all right. She knows we've always been in touch, just as you know I keep up with her, but where you two are concerned I made it a policy to never carry tales between you. She wanted to know if there was anything you needed.”

“Guilty conscience,” Emma said.

“Easy, Emma. She might be one of the few people who can actually understand what you're going through,” he said. “I know you're not sympathetic, but she had to rebuild her life after you left. And Jock called. Divorced and living in Santa Rosa. He wanted to know if there was any chance you'd be coming back this way when it was all over. He said to tell you that if you need anything...”

“Seriously?” she asked.

“Very sincerely. I'm not his biggest fan, but he did offer support.”

She said nothing. Of course she knew they were both here, Riley and Jock. Back when they were all so young, her best friend and her boyfriend. She'd returned for brief visits a few times after leaving so long ago and had not spoken to them, but she always knew they were still around. When she decided to come back here for good she knew it was possible she'd run into one or both of them eventually.

“Might be time to move on from that haunt, Emma,” Lyle said.

“I have moved on,” she answered. “I've moved on from a lot of things. And I'm not going back one step.”

Chapter Two

When Emma Catherine Shay was nine years old, a fourth grader at St. Pascal's elementary school in Santa Rosa, a couple of new kids came to school. Riley and Adam Kerrigan. Riley was in Emma's class and the teacher asked her to be responsible for helping Riley get acquainted and adjusted.

Emma, known for being friendly and a child who wished to please, was annoyed. First of all, she already had two best friends—Susanna and Paula—and Riley's hanging around was interfering with her routine. Second, Riley apparently couldn't talk. She followed along or sat at the lunch table all quiet and nervous. When she did speak, she could barely be heard. Third, and Emma knew this was wrong, but the girl was a rag doll. She wore old clothes that didn't even fit her right.

Riley's older brother, Adam, so somber and quiet, waited after school to walk home together so at least Emma didn't have that chore. And all of it—spending time with Riley—was monotonous. But, so Sister Judith would be proud of her, Emma did the best she could with the odd little creature with the unhappy personality. At the end of the second day Riley surprised Emma when she spoke softly. “I know where to go and what to do now. You can go be with your friends.”

Emma felt like a turd. “We'll just
all
hang out together,” she said, hating her overzealous conscience.

Then, over the next few days, Emma learned that Riley, Adam and their mother came to Santa Rosa to live with Riley's grandparents in their tiny house because Riley's dad had gotten very sick and died. So now Riley wasn't just shy and poor, she was also bereaved. Emma was stuck with her.

But Emma couldn't deny that she was completely sympathetic—she'd lost her own mother, though she had been too young to remember her. Her father had remarried when she was just a toddler, probably largely to have help with his child. He had married Rosemary, an efficient and hardworking widow with a three-year-old daughter, Anna. Three years later they had a baby together, another girl. Baby Lauren. The only mother she had ever known was her stepmother, and of the three children, Rosemary liked Emma least. Emma understood by the time she was ten that it had been a marriage of convenience.

Emma was plotting her escape from Riley when a few things shifted as Riley got more comfortable with her new surroundings. First off, she was hilarious and once they got laughing, they could hardly stop. When she wasn't feeling scared and lonely, Riley's voice was strong and confident. She was very good in school and rose to the head of the class quickly. She could help Emma and not the other way around. And Riley's mother, June, turned out to be the most wonderful, loving, fun and positive woman in the entire world, embracing Emma and making her feel so cherished. Riley's grandparents acted like it was their lucky day the Kerrigans moved in even though they were stuffed into the little house. They were crowded and money was tight but there was more laughter there than there had ever been in Emma's house. Riley and Adam wore hand-me-down clothes, their grandparents were elderly, and June Kerrigan cleaned houses and waitressed to make ends meet, but Emma was always welcome, made to feel like a member of the family.

Emma's home life wasn't nearly so happy. Rosemary wasn't abusive in any obvious way but she was emotionally flat where Emma was concerned.

Rosemary complained about how hard she had to work at the DMV, how much stress she had in her life, how messy and lazy Emma's father was, her weight, her friends and a variety of issues. Aside from Anna and Lauren, there didn't seem to be much she enjoyed. Although Rosemary always referred to Emma and Lauren as her daughters, there was little doubt that Anna was her favorite. It wasn't long before Emma was happier at Riley's house than at her own. And hardly surprisingly, Rosemary didn't mind her absence at home much.

We were going to be each other's maid of honor. We were going to have children at the same time so they could be best friends, too.

From the day Sister Judith forced them together until high school graduation, Emma and Riley were inseparable. Riley's grandpa called them conjoined twins. They stuck together through thick and thin, through the sudden death of Emma's father when she was sixteen, Rosemary's third marriage to Vince Kingston, and every issue that plagued teenagedom. Their friendship was cast in iron and they had very few tiffs. Until they fell out over a boy. One Jock Curry. Yes, it was his given name. He was named for a grandfather.

They'd both crushed on him in high school. They thought he was smart, sexy, athletic, funny. Every girl wanted him and he apparently wanted every girl, but once he settled on Emma during their senior year, that was it for him. He said his roaming days were over. Of course, he was all of seventeen at the time. He tried to talk Emma into going to the same community college he'd chosen or at least staying close to home, but she had a scholarship and was going to Seattle Pacific University, known for its interior-design program. Of the two girls, she was the least likely to get a scholarship, but even with one, Riley's family couldn't afford any part of the expense of living away from home or attending an out-of-state university. Emma could manage with working part-time, taking out loans, and Rosemary was able to send a little money—fifty here, fifty there. And she had big dreams; she was going to design the interiors of five-star hotels and luxurious mansions!

Riley enrolled in the same community college as Jock, lived at home and began cleaning houses just like her mom always had.

Jock had no specific plans except to get the minimum education, work part time, play a little baseball and enjoy himself.

Emma didn't suspect anything was going on in her absence until right before Christmas break. Riley was acting strangely. Jock and Riley were hanging out together a lot, but shouldn't that be expected? Her guy and her best friend, going to school together and everything? She trusted them, after all. Then she had this nagging feeling it wasn't all right, that it was a betrayal. Riley was different toward her; Jock was a little too much himself—jovial and confident and relaxed. He'd gone from ragging on her about taking more time to talk to him on the phone to not noticing how long it had been since they'd had one of those long, whispery, late-night conversations.

She suspected her best friend was too close to her boyfriend. When Emma confronted her, Riley burst into tears, admitted it, swore it wasn't entirely her fault, that Jock had taken advantage of the fact that she'd always liked him a lot, that she had been so lonely without her best friend.

Jock had said, “Hey, grow up. It didn't really mean anything. Besides, what did you expect? You didn't have time for either one of us.”

Emma never really did understand how something like that
just happens
, especially when both Riley and Jock insisted they hadn't meant it to, that it was all a terrible mistake. Then they both turned it back on her, as if it was her fault for going away to school. All she knew was that she was devastated and had lost the two most important people in her life. She could never trust either one of them again and the feeling was so painful it doubled her over. She went back to Seattle after Christmas break completely decimated by the hurt. She tried to date and that didn't go well. Riley wrote her a couple of letters, left her a few messages, but Emma was too hurt to respond. And she didn't go back to Santa Rosa until summer break. Even then, she hadn't wanted to—there was nothing there for her anymore. Her father was dead, her stepmother was a cold fish who clearly hated her, her stepmother's new husband was an old lecher, her sisters didn't care about her...

She didn't stay in Santa Rosa long. She learned what no one wanted to tell her. Oh, but Emma's stepsister Anna couldn't
wait
to tell her—Riley was pregnant. While Emma was at school, those two had been knocking boots like mad and now they were having a baby. Emma bid a tearful goodbye to Lyle, cleared everything out of her father's house, the house she grew up in, and headed back to Seattle as fast as she could. She got herself a job, joined a sorority, visited Santa Rosa very rarely and very briefly. When she did go, she stayed with Lyle.

Even Seattle wasn't far enough away. Upon her graduation, she secured a job in New York and moved to the other coast. Within three years she was a buyer for one of the largest independent department stores in the US and traveled all over the world for her household wares. She was a specialist in interiors and had fantasies about starting her own design firm.

But then she met Richard...

If there was one thing Emma had learned from the experience it was that she could hold a grudge. The fact that Riley's relationship with Jock hadn't lasted, proving that he wasn't exactly a good catch, didn't lessen her feelings of being betrayed. The undeniable truth that she'd dodged a bullet when her relationship with Jock fell apart didn't give her much comfort. The further fact that she'd gone on to marry a handsome, rich, successful man also hadn't induced her to forgive and forget.

But then what she went through with Richard—his fraud, deceit, demise—taught her something else. There were bigger things to worry about than a fifteen-year-old feud with a childhood friend.

There was no going back, Emma reminded herself. She was moving forward.

* * *

Emma hadn't worked outside her home and marriage for nine years but boy, had she worked in it. She visited several employment agencies with her résumé, her degree, even details of her experience volunteering at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, working on gigantic fund-raisers, massive decorating projects and entertaining on an enormous scale, but that simply wouldn't do it after the interview. She felt it was in her best interest to be honest, then immediately doubted her wisdom in that. If they didn't want to take her on as a client because they feared trusting her, then they didn't want her because of the potential negative press attention it might draw to them. Clients might leave businesses that employed her because of her notoriety. Of course, they didn't say that. They said they were sorry, there didn't seem to be anything available, but if she'd leave a number...

She had to throw her net wider. She had a list of businesses to apply to that ranged from galleries and stores to convention centers, wineries and even political parties. She stopped explaining that her late husband had been
the
Richard Compton and instead said that after a bad marriage, she was reentering the workforce. After two weeks with zero success, she went to several smaller employment agencies, not the ones that specialized in decorating, customer service, event planning and those things that were ideal for her. After all, she could always type and file. She could operate a computer. She thought the reception she received was positive...until they looked into her background, which was a simple matter nowadays with a computer search. Even though she wasn't up-front about her history, they obviously Googled her and she was politely informed there was nothing available that might suit her.

After four weeks, she was inconsolable.

“Isn't this some kind of discrimination?” she asked Lyle.

“It definitely is,” Lyle said. “But I'm not sure what kind.”

Just when she thought things couldn't possibly get bleaker, she took a job in a fast food restaurant. She thought of it as a placeholder until she found a real job. Her boss was nineteen years old. She did everything she was told to do, putting great effort into it. They'd given her an evening shift because she was mature and the restaurant was overrun with high school and college kids. But she had trouble keeping up. She took home a paycheck for five days of shift work at about five hours a day in the amount of $91.75—they deducted FICA, Social Security, state and federal taxes, uniform costs. Her net pay was $3.67 per hour. Her feet and back were killing her.

She wondered if she'd have to succumb to a disguise and create a new identity.

* * *

Emma answered her cell phone knowing it would be Lyle, but praying it would be someone with an offer of a better job. It was Lyle.

“Do you know a man by the name of Aaron Justice?”

She laughed. “Unforgettable. A friend of my father's. An attorney. He must be a hundred years old by now.”

“More like seventy-five. Apparently one of your sisters said you could be reached through me and he'd love to hear from you. He said maybe you could meet for a coffee or something. He's been concerned about you. He would like to see you, to assure himself you're okay.”

“Now, isn't that sweet,” she said. “It's not a trap, is it? He's not representing someone Richard screwed, is he?”

“Does that actually happen?” Lyle asked.

“It hasn't happened yet, but I'm ready for it.”

“I have his number,” Lyle said. “Call him, ask him what he wants before you make a date to see him. But really, he's just a little old man.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she said with a laugh. “Aaron is only a little old man on the outside. I think in his day he was a very prominent attorney.”

It took her a few minutes to work up her courage because it would simply break her heart if Aaron Justice were foe, not friend. Her father, a CPA with a small but busy business, was close to Aaron, and Emma had known him all her life. Not only had they seen him and his family socially, Aaron was the lawyer who took care of John Shay's will and a few other legal matters, too.

“I want only to see you, my dear girl,” Aaron said. “I've followed your ordeal in the news and have been concerned. Come and have a cup of coffee with me.”

The very next afternoon that she didn't have to work they met in a coffee shop in Santa Rosa, and when she saw him, it brought her to tears. He seemed to have gotten smaller, but his embrace was still strong and she might have held on too tight. He was a very dapper, classy gentleman and of course just seeing him again after eighteen years made her miss her father.