Page 32 of The Guilty One
I don’t want to tell her. Somehow, I still want to protect Tate. If this is all, somehow, a misunderstanding, I want her to still love her son-in-law. At the same time, I hate myself for caring. For being so pathetic.
“He’s the detective on Tate’s case. Just giving me an update.”
“And he had to come by to do that?”
I nod, walking past her. “I appreciate that he did. So we know they’re still working on it and looking for him.”
“So what was the update?” she asks, following behind me as I head for the kitchen.
I stop, keeping my voice low. “There’s some money missing from our retirement account. They’re trying to find out where it went.”
“How much money?” Her eyes widen.
“Not much,” I lie. “They’ll track it down. Not a big deal.” I wave her off, turning toward the kitchen again and not stopping until I have the boys in my arms. “How was school?” I bend down between them, where they’re sitting at the kitchen table working on homework.
“Fine,” Ryker says.
“Boring,” Finley says. “Is Dad back yet?”
“Not yet,” I tell them, trying to keep my voice light. “But hopefully soon, okay? Do you need help with your homework?”
“No,” Ryker says. “We’ve got it. Mine’s just social studies. And Finley’s is science. Easy peasy.”
“Easy peasy,” I repeat, tears stinging my eyes. I look over at Finley, who has pictures of leaves cut out and scattered across the table, using a glue stick to place them with their matches on the sheet of paper in front of him. They’re working so diligently, both unbothered by my presence and the lack of Tate’s.
I stand up, patting my thighs as I do. “Okay, if you’re sure. I’m going to change.” Mom appears behind me, and I spin around. “I need to check in with my boss, too. Let me give her an update, and then I’ll get supper going.”
“Grandpa’s bringing pizza home from work,” Ryker says without looking up.
“You shouldn’t be worried about your job at a time like this. Maybe now’s the time to finally quit that place and come back to work for us. You know your dad would be thrilled to have you, and you can start once things have calmed down here.” Her eyes light up with hope.
It kills me to tell them no every time they offer this, but at this moment, I’m grateful to have the option. I have no idea when I’ll be able to go back to work, and if Margie fires me, I’m glad to have somewhere to go. “I know, Mom. Thanks, but we’ve talked about this. I’ve told you I’d love to work for you again, but The Bold Bean’s hours fit the boys’ school schedule better. I know Dad would give me the hours I need, but you guys need help on the weekends and evenings while I need to work during school hours.”
“We could have you open at ten thirty, and work until three?—”
“That’s not enough hours, though. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair of him to give me all the daytime shifts when other employees want them, too. You guys are even still there during the weekends and evenings. You deserve employees who can be there when you need them to.”
She gestures toward the boys. “They could come with you. You always loved being there with us.”
I squeeze her arm. “I appreciate the offer, always. And we can talk about it more later. Right now, they said Dad’s bringing home pizza?”
She nods, but I can tell she’s upset. “I hope that’s okay. I was going to cook, but the boys couldn’t agree on what they wanted, and pizza felt like an easy option. Your dad just went in to help with inventory, but he’s going to bring pizzas home for everyone.”
“Of course it’s okay. It’s more than okay, but you didn’t have to do that.”
She waves me off. “Oh, please. Your dad misses bringing you home pizza. When you were a little girl, when you’d go to the shop with him for the day right after we opened, he was like a kid in a candy store. And bringing it home for you, seeing how excited you got, it never got old for him.” Her voice cracks, and she looks away, which just makes me tear up more.
My parents worked hard to open their pizza shop and keep it going. So much of my childhood was spent within that shop, learning more than I’d ever need to know about pizza or watching them work while I did my homework. Now it’s successful enough that they have full-time help, but Dad is still there whenever he can be. “It makes him happy to have something to do.” I suspect it makes her just as happy, but neither of us says as much. Having my parents take care of me, even as an adult, is still one of the most comforting things. I wonder if I’ll ever grow out of that.
“Besides,” she says, pulling me out of my thoughts, “Daphne and Lane will be over in an hour or so, and pizza’s easy for everyone. You just go and do whatever you need to do. I’ve got the boys.”
It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed by my mom sometimes. She’s vocal and pushy when she’s made up her mind. Opinionated. She’s always been a doer and a people pleaser, but I know she’s trying her hardest to support me through an impossible situation, and right now all I want to do is cry and tell her ‘thank you’ a million times. If we make it through this, I will never complain about her to Tate again. Or even to myself.
I will never complain about her again.
“Thanks, Mom. Seriously.”
She smiles at me with her lips tucked into her mouth, a sad smile that reminds me of all that is going wrong in my life, and I hug her quickly so she doesn’t see the tears I feel stinging my eyes. “Of course. I just want to help, lovebug.”