Better Not Love Me (19 page)

"He was doing them a favor then. He was standing up for somebody. He should be thanked for it."

"Pastor Isakson agreed, but told Marcus that if something like that happens, that he's supposed to report it, not try to handle it himself."

"This isn’t an issue," she said. "This is a good thing. He's not getting into fistfights. He controlled himself. And he was standing up for a girl who couldn't do it herself."

"Right, but we need to make sure that it stays that way, which is why I brought it up, so you are in the loop," he said.

"Thank you. I'm fully in the loop," she said sharply.

They entered the office and began searching in silence, but Marcus' continued troubles weren't far from her mind.

* * *

Amelia felt strange being alone with Josh in the office, so near her own bedroom. How easy it would be to slip back into their old ways as a couple. That was one area they never had trouble before. They were always close physically. They could fight and disagree all day, but when it came time to turn out the light, they made up for it. Not every night of course, they were human after all. Amelia had been more than satisfied with their lovemaking. But she’d removed that line of thinking from her mind years ago; so to think of it again made her blush, while at the same time wanting to push him into the bedroom and for just a few minutes forget about the sadness and the loss, and simply enjoy the pleasure of being together. But she didn't do that. She had walked right past the bedroom without so much as a glance. She couldn't let that happen.

"Here it is," Josh said. The report, in a sleek plastic folder, was sitting on Amelia's desk. It was a wonder she didn’t notice it before. Of course she didn’t know she was supposed to be looking for it. Only Josh did.

Josh picked up the report, then looked in awe at the wall opposite the windows.

Amelia's obsession over Mr. Z's had taken over the space from floor to ceiling. Photographs, pages of emails, newspaper clippings and articles printed from the web were pinned to the wall. It resembled one of those visual boards where the FBI placed all the clues trying to connect evidence of a murder. Lines of string even connected the pieces.

"What's all this?" Josh asked with sincere curiosity.

"Just a little project I'm working on."

"Are you hunting a serial killer?"

"Ha, ha," she replied flatly.

"Then what is it?"

Josh knew the broad strokes of the Mr. Z's situation and was actually uniquely qualified to discuss the issue, having worked with her at the store for several years. He'd never wanted to work at the store; but after Edwin died, she needed people she could trust, and he became just as fond of the store as she was.

Amelia filled him in on the most crucial piece of evidence: Graham Barnes was bankrupting and closing the business.

"I read about the pending closure in the paper. I'm sorry," he said. "So what are you doing about it? What can you do?"

"I want him to keep the business alive. I want these people to keep their jobs. I want some of the company profits to go toward donations and counseling help for kids in need. I've got a pretty good plan for how to boost revenue, if only the stores remain open."

"But Barnes has made it pretty clear that he doesn't want anything to do with Mr. Z's."

"Obviously that's the problem," she said.

"Maybe that's the solution too. It's pretty simple."

"Um, are we talking about the same thing?" Amelia asked, bewildered by his optimism.

"From what you've said it's not that Barnes wants the company to fail, otherwise he'd have already closed all the stores or raised prices so it was so far in the red that he'd have no other choice but to close down all the stores immediately. He's keeping the chain stores open, at least for now."

Josh was speaking with a passion Amelia wasn't used to. He seemed to have an immediate and forceful reaction to the problem.

He continued.

"Barnes just wants to rid Riddell of the burden of holding onto the stores and babysitting Mr. Z's." 

"I'm not sure I'm following," Amelia said.

"He's doing just enough to keep revenue flat, or slightly below that. If it really fails—I mean completely fails—he would be to blame."

"Again I'm not following."

"He's not trying to bankrupt the company. He's wants to sell it and show his bosses that he took a losing proposition and turned a profit on it, by selling it."

Amelia hadn't considered that scenario.

"OK, I hear you, but how does that help us by knowing it?"

"You buy it."

Amelia actually snorted before she laughed.

"What?" Josh asked.

"You must really think I'm rich, but you're way off."

"Not you alone. C’mon, you know what I meant. You get a group of investors together and you buy it."

"Oh, it's that simple, huh? I'll just call up all my wealthy waitress friends who used to work at the Main Street Diner in Bonners Ferry and see if they can cough up a couple million for me. Or maybe you should ask your old high school football buddies. You know, the ones who aren't living in a trailer park? Just see if they can spot us a loan for a while. This will be a snap. I can't believe I didn't think of it earlier."

"So you're saying it's out of the question?"

"Yes, it's out of the question."

"Then you should stop obsessing over this and walk away, because it's the only solution that gets you and Barnes what you both want."

"I'm not going to just walk away," she said.

"Well it doesn't look like you're actually doing anything here except making this nifty serial-killer craft board."

"You have no idea what I've been doing," she threw the words at him.

"No? You forget that our children live in both our houses, and unprovoked they tell me that you walk around here brooding all day and staring off into space. Or talking about Nate Rosen. You're sad and going through bottles of wine like crazy. So yes, I know a little bit about what you've been doing."

"That's not fair," Amelia said.

"I didn't say that it was. I'm just recapping what I've been told—and by the way—also confirmed today by seeing it firsthand."

"You're out of line. You don't get to talk to me like this anymore."

"Why? Because having someone tell you the truth hurts too much? Well, if anyone is going to be honest with you, it's going to be me. I know you better than anyone. We've been circling each other in one way or another since high school; and I imagine we always will because we have children together and that will never change, no matter what we do." 

Amelia wished the tears didn't come and she wiped them away as fast as they rolled down her cheeks. Josh reached out for her, but she motioned him away. She went to the window and looked out at the fall day. But Josh didn’t leave. He stayed in the office with her and waited.

"This isn't how it's supposed to be," she said. "We're supposed to find someone and fall in love. We get married and make a home. Eventually we have children who adore us as much as we adore them. We then grow old as they become like us, only better. We share life and become grandparents and we never part. That's what is supposed to happen."

"That's a dream."

"Damn it, it shouldn't be!"

"If you spend your days worried about
supposed to be
then you'll never get to where you need to be," Josh said.

"Where do I need to be then?" she asked. "If you know so well, tell me."

"I might know you best, but I'm biased."

She didn't push him away this time when he embraced her. The warm sun shone on them as the fading light from the sunset streamed through the window. His strong arms felt good and she knew what he meant. He meant that she should be with him. And every other heartbeat told her that he was right. But she couldn't ignore the beats that came in between. Her heart beat for Nate as well, and as much as Josh said the right things and they made beautiful children together, she couldn't open that door again. Josh had to be close to her, but at the same time she needed to keep her distance—for both their sakes.

She wasn't picking one over another—the men were not hers alone to have anyway, but she'd been down this road with Josh and each time she ended up alone.

"You know I'll always love you, Josh," she said looking into his eyes. "But we'll never be together. There's just too much . . . history to make up for. We both know it."

"I know. You're right. I'll always love you, too," he said. "No matter what."

Their embrace was comfortable and familiar. They stayed wrapped in each other arms until they hurt from standing for so long. Their lips never once touched, but Amelia felt as close to Josh as she ever had before, even as she was saying goodbye to him.

For the first time in her life she felt like it was OK to love him, but not be with him. That, she could do.

Chapter 37

Dallas, Texas

Walt Riddell slowly wound his way through the maze of objects strewn about his living room floor. Making it from one end to the other was a chore. Magazines and newspapers were stacked in sloppy piles that left little room for the old man to place his cane and shimmy through. The large roll-top desk near the stone fireplace was covered in old junk mail, envelopes included. Both couches could be found, with a little digging, under an assortment of crocheted blankets that the late Mrs. Riddell made 30 years earlier. His flat screen TV, a small 21-inch model, sat on top of a old-model, console TV that hadn't been used since Mrs. Riddell had been making those blankets.

When he reached the end of the living room, which was not large by any means, he carefully pulled the thick cord to part the black-out curtains revealing the front drive of the ranch-style home. He enjoyed the view from the front of the house, but the same could be said for the rear of the house or even both sides. The landscape was so flat that he regularly told visitors about the time his dog ran away and he watched him go for three days. Walt thought he was funny. At least he tried.

Walt's homestead was sorely lacking for a man of his considerable wealth. A millionaire 50 times over, the founder of Riddell Industries bought the place when he was a young man and never got around to upgrading it. He'd wheel and deal for lucrative companies all day, but would come home to the same shabby place he'd lived in his entire adult life. He'd raised his children here. He'd married and lost Mrs. Riddell here. It suited him just fine and the stacks of memories strewn about every nook and cranny of the place just served as gentle reminders of his more than 80 years on this earth. He liked it this way.

He rested his hand on the window sill, bracing himself for the wait. He didn't have to wait long. A car turned down the long driveway. It was a blue sedan, which was clearly a rental. His visitor wasn't from this area—obviously having come a long way to see him; but then again, a lot of people did. And for a lot of different reasons too. His grandchildren would come by for holidays, at least for a short while. He always had gifts for them. His buddy Ike, from the bowling alley, would come by every other Wednesday before league play. He couldn't join Ike at the bowling alley anymore, because he didn't like the drive, but he enjoyed the routine visits nonetheless. 

The executives of his companies would often come over too. He knew it was a courtesy to keep the old man informed about the different lines of business; and he offered advice, little of which was followed. He had no tangible operating authority anymore at Riddell Industries. At his age he'd lost touch and he was forgetful. It was a younger man's game. In the old days he'd get into the weeds of a potential deal and spend weeks combing through accounting records, real estate transactions or tax filings in an effort to get to know the company he was interested in. That sort of due diligence was now handled by a team of twenty-something college grads, not octogenarians who needed assistance getting out of bed each morning.

The car stopped in the curved driveway and a woman got out. Amelia Cook wore a white blouse and light blue pencil skirt. She carried a leather shoulder bag, the kind that would hold a laptop computer. If you need one of those, he thought.

Walt had always liked Amelia since their first encounter and in a church foyer at Edwin Klein's funeral. Walt told Amelia about Riddell's contract with Mr. Z's Toys—a deal that made the single store the foundation of a larger franchise. Edwin signed the five-year deal just a day before his death. Amelia was the only other person in the employ of Mr. Z's Toys and became the linchpin that kept the deal in place. She didn't ask for the job, but she accepted it to honor Edwin and preserve the legacy of the store that meant so much to its customers.

For the first few years he'd mentored Amelia from a distance, but over time his ability to provide her good counsel was further limited. He knew Nate Rosen had kept an eye on her and that made him feel comfortable stepping away. He had always trusted Nate and that trust meant a lot. He saw Mr. Z's as a legacy project, and he was excited to hear what Amelia had to say about the little toy company. He was in for a disappointment. He didn't know that she was no longer with Mr. Z's.

They hadn't talked in years.

* * *

"I don't understand," Walt said, his words were strained with age.

Amelia explained her departure from the company earlier in the year and how she had been so frustrated with the work and pressure.

"You should have come to talk with me," Walt said. "I'm disappointed. Not in you my dear, but in the struggle you had. I could have helped. Why didn't you come to me?"

Amelia explained that she tried, through the proper company channels, but was shot down—first by Nate and then by Graham Barnes. She was told that Walt was no longer taking an active part in the day-to-day management of his companies.

"I'm sorry, Amelia. I truly am. I neglected you and over-burdened you."

"No you didn't. It's my fault. I left and gave up and now we’re in trouble. That's why I'm here today."

Walt struggled to understand why the Spokane location was being closed and what that meant for the rest of the company. His mind didn't work as fast as it used to. At that moment he seemed to remember one of his executives recently telling him about Nate and how he'd also left the company to get treatment for some sort of cancer. The details were foggy.

"What kind of trouble is Mr. Z's in?" Walt asked.

Amelia again explained that Graham Barnes was pushing to close the Spokane store and eventually shutter the whole chain, possibly for a bankruptcy filing or to sell.

"That's not how we do things at Riddell. It's not his to bankrupt or sell. By God, what is happening?" Walt exclaimed. "When is Nate returning? He can be more effective to fix this than me. He knows the players; he knows what to do. Barnes shouldn't be in there. Why did I ever put that man in charge?"

Walt knew he didn't have authority at Riddell anymore, but it didn't stop him from making his feelings known. He bowed his head and looked reticent.

"He's gonna beat this thing," Walt said quietly. "He did it before."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean. Who is going to beat what?" Amelia asked.

"Nate and the cancer. He's going to beat it and be back better than ever."

Walt noticed the puzzled look on Amelia's face. He sometimes rearranged things in his mind. Events that happened years ago seemed like they happened just yesterday.

"Did I mix something up? I do that sometimes."

"He already beat his cancer, years ago." As Amelia said the words her voice faltered as if she was telling a lie. "He's in remission now."

Amelia thought back to that summer day she discovered Nate had left without saying goodbye. That was the last she'd heard from him.

"I swear they told me it came back, worse than before," Walt said. He stood up from his chair and walked into the kitchen, returning with a receipt from a florist.

"I don't have my glasses," he said. "Did I send these in error?"

Amelia looked at the Lone Star Flower Shop receipt. The delivery was sent to Chloe Rosen in Dallas, Texas. The flowers must have been nice, they cost $150. She looked at the details of the order. A knot formed in her stomach. The arrangement was the kind you send with your condolences.

The receipt was dated two weeks ago.

This can't be happening.