Love Proof (Laws of Attraction) (39 page)

“Good idea,” Joe said, tugging her own shirt up her torso.

“No,” Sarah said, laughing and angling away.  “I have to go.”

“Come on, Red . . . ”

“Seriously,” she said, forcing herself off the bed.  “I told them I’d
be there this afternoon, and I still have to stop by Angie’s.”

Joe groaned.  “Four days is a long time.”

“We’ll survive,” Sarah said.  “Think of me in my granny panties.  That
ought to cool you off.”

“Not possible,” Joe said.

As Sarah bent over to tie her sneakers, she cast a sideways glance at
Burke.

“I’m going to have to tell my mother about us, you know.”

Joe propped himself up on one elbow.  “Why does that sound like a bad
thing?”

“Because she doesn’t like you,” Sarah said.  “She thinks you broke my
heart.  Actually, she knows you did, but she thinks it’s still broken.”

A look of—what?  Concern?  Guilt?—crossed Joe’s face, and Sarah
realized he didn’t like her making light of what had happened.

She dove back onto the bed and pinned Joe beneath her.

“But you’d never do that again, right?” she said.

“Not in this lifetime.”  He tried to flip her over, but for once Sarah
had better leverage.

“And you’re very, very sorry you were such a stupid ass and ever left
me, right?”

“You don’t know how sorry,” Joe said much more sincerely than her
playfulness called for.

“So it’s fine,” Sarah said, giving him a deep and tempting kiss before finally
releasing him and sliding back to the floor.  “I’ll explain it all to my
mother, and one day she might forgive you.  Eventually.”

“Should I send her something for Christmas?”

“Chocolate is always nice,” Sarah said.  “And a happy daughter—what
mother can resist that?”

***

“What’s this?” Angie asked.

Sarah set out five tall containers on Angie’s desk.

“Crack?” Angie said, her pupils dilating.  “Oh, my God, you’re the
best
.”

Sarah was glad she thought so, since it was all the holiday bonus she
could afford.

Angie glanced at the clock.  “I don’t have anyone for fifteen minutes. 
Mind if I heat some up?”

“Go ahead.  But you know there’s always a three-bowl minimum.”

“One will have to do.”

Angie poured into a microwave dish a huge portion of the vegetable soup
she’d renamed Crack Soup.  Sarah couldn’t disagree with the title—the soup was
positively addictive.  She had perfected the recipe, figuring out how many
vegetables she could throw in, in what combinations, and which spices to use. 
She had also gotten over thinking of parsley as just a garnish, since she added
a whole head of it, chopped fine.  The result was a soup so delicious it tasted
almost like dessert at the same time as dinner.  Both she and Angie were
notorious for eating through half a pot of it before finally retiring their
spoons.

“You’d better be here to give me a report,” Angie said, cutting right to
the point.

“I think you deserve that,” Sarah agreed.  She waited while Angie
removed the soup from the microwave even before the timer buzzed.  Sarah could
understand that, too.  She could never wait for it, either.

“So,” Angie said, “did I give you good advice or bad?”

“Good.  Some people might not think so if they saw where we are right
now, but I’m telling you:  good.”

She filled Angie in on everything that had happened since the last time
they sat together in that office.  Meanwhile Angie powered through her bowl and
quickly heated another.

The door to the gym opened, and Angie’s next client came in.  He was a
tall, gangly man with bright red hair and an immediate smile for Sarah.

“Hello, fellow ginger.”

She laughed.  “Hello.”  She started to stand, but Angie motioned her
down.

“Go ahead and warm up,” Angie told the client.  “I’ll be out in five.”

The man nodded and left the two of them alone.

Angie lowered her voice.  “So.  You’re both without jobs, but you’re
deeply in love, and you have me to thank for both.”

Sarah smiled.  “Something like that.”

“When are you coming back to workout?”

“I’m not sure.  Depends on . . . ”  Sarah rubbed her thumb and her
third finger together, in the universal sign for money.

“You can always go on credit,” Angie said.

“Not this time, but thank you.  I know you have a business to run.  I’m
not going to be one of those dead-beat clients who keeps using you but never
pays.”

“Sarah, you know I don’t think that about you.”

“I know.  And I appreciate that.  But I’d feel better if I could pay as
I go.”  Sarah stood and stepped toward the door.  “And it’ll happen—I know it
will.  Then I’ll be back and you can kick my butt again.”

Angie walked her to the front door.  Then she gave Sarah a hug.  “I have
a couple’s discount, you know.  Get your man in here, too.  I’ll be happy to boss
you both around.”

“I’ll call you in the new year,” Sarah promised.  Then she waved to the
tall redhead.  He kept jumping rope, but gave her a nod.

“Thanks for the Crack,” Angie said.

“Any time.  Thanks for calling me a wuss.  I needed it.”

“Hey,” Angie said with a smile, “whatever it takes.”

***

“Hi, sweetheart.”  Her mother greeted her at the door wearing her traditional
Christmas apron, the same one she had put on for holiday cooking for as long as
Sarah could remember.  The snowman on the front was looking a little tattered,
but otherwise as cheerful as ever.

Sarah interrupted her father’s football watching long enough to give
him a hug, then carried her bag to her old bedroom.  The room was still pink
and white, the way she’d kept it since she was a little girl and even later in
college.  She still had her old canopy bed, too:  her first experience in
Flourish
back when her parents could barely afford it.  It had been a big deal then, and
it still was to her.  Even though she knew any other adult woman would look at
her room and snicker.

Sarah set her bag on the floor, then lay on her bed for a few minutes,
just soaking in the place.  This was where she had studied her brains out night
after night.  Where she made lists and plans for her future.

Where she had tried again and again to call Joe on Christmas six years
ago to find out what was going on.  That’s when she finally took matters into
her own hands and searched the public records.  And when she had cried on Joe’s
behalf when she saw the notice about his mother.

A long time ago, Sarah thought.  A long way to finally come around full
circle.

Her mother knocked on the open door.  She smiled at the sight of Sarah
stretched out on the frilly bed.

“You still don’t want something more modern?” her mother asked. 
“Something more grown up?”

“Absolutely not,” Sarah answered.

She wondered if little boys ever felt that way about the race car beds
they finally outgrew.  She could think of a few men she had met who probably
wouldn’t mind sleeping in a bed frame shaped like a Ferrari.

“Dinner’ll be ready in about an hour,” her mother said.  She came in
and sat on the edge of Sarah’s bed.  “How’s work been?  How’s
Joe
?” she
added in an icy tone.

“Good . . . fine . . . ”  Sarah wondered if her mother could hear the
falseness in her voice.  She had meant to tell her about Joe right away, but
somehow now didn’t seem like the right moment.

Wuss
, she
could hear Angie say.

“Well, come out and talk to us.  Your father’ll turn off the game.  We
want to hear what you’ve been doing.”

Sleeping with opposing counsel, declaring my love to
opposing counsel, resigning from my case, losing my job, bombing out at
interviews . . .

“Great,” Sarah said.  “Sounds great.”

***

“How’s business, Dad?”  Sarah wasn’t just deflecting the attention from
herself, she honestly wanted to know.  Her parents had always included her in
their money and work discussions, even when she was still too young to
understand all the details.  She grew up feeling like a partner in both of her
parents’ businesses.

“Oh, you know,” her dad said, “always slow this time of year.  But
it’ll pick up again in January—always does.”

“How’s all the equipment holding up?” Sarah asked.

“Mostly good.  I’ll probably have to upgrade some of it next year. 
I’ll work it out.”

Sarah could hear the worry in his voice, but there was no point in
pressing it.  She couldn’t help him right now anyway.

“How’s Grady been?” she asked.

“Meaner than ever,” her father answered with a laugh.

Grady was his oldest employee.  He’d been with Sarah’s father almost as
long as her mother.

“How about you, Mom?” Sarah asked.  “Busy this month?”

Mrs. Henley gave a weary laugh.  “Just like every year.  Relatives come
to town, holiday parties, so everybody needs their houses to look perfect ahead
of time.  Then all those cleanups from office parties—I’ve been working
double-time for the past three weeks.  But the money’s good, so who’s complaining? 
It’s nice to be busy when your dad’s work is slower.”

That’s how it had always been, Sarah thought:  the two of them taking
turns supporting the family, riding the highs and lows of the economy, always
treating each other like equal partners in keeping the family afloat.  It was
why Sarah had always looked forward to playing her own part in it, helping her
parents out with whatever money she could.

“But we want to hear about you!” her mother said.  “You know everything
about us.  Come on, tell us what you’ve been doing.”

Here it was, Sarah thought, her chance to tell them everything.

“Work’s been . . . good,” she began, testing the words on her tongue. 
“It’s, you know, challenging . . . ”

“Especially with that Joe Burke there, I’m sure,” her mother added.

Now there’s an understatement
, Sarah thought.  “Right . . . ”

“Any word yet on the job turning into something more permanent?” her
dad asked.

“Um, well, that’s kind of interesting,” Sarah said, again seeing her
opening.  “I think—”  She paused to clear her throat.  “There’s some stuff
going on with the case right now.  I think my part of it might actually end a
little earlier than I expected . . . ”

She hated to lie to her parents, but it wasn’t technically a lie, she told
herself.  Except for the word
might
.

“How much earlier?” her father wanted to know.  “I thought you had at
least five months guaranteed.”

“Yeah, well, not exactly.”

“So you’ll be out of work again?” he asked, making no effort to hide
his concern.

“Just until I find something else,” Sarah said.  “It’s fine.  I’ve
already started interviewing.”

“Well, that’s smart,” her mother said.  “Better to be ready than
sorry.”

Sarah nodded.  She hadn’t exactly been living by that motto for the
past few weeks.

On the other hand, she hadn’t exactly been this happy in her personal
life for the past several years.

“I bet that Joe Burke will be sorry to see you go,” Sarah’s mother
said.  “He should have been nicer to you in the first place.”

“He’s been nice lately, Mom,” Sarah said.  She couldn’t bear to just
sit there and hear Joe maligned, even though she still didn’t feel ready to
confess everything.  She dreaded seeing the disappointment on her parents’
faces when she explained that she lost her job because she had been doing
something unethical.  Not just
doing
something unethical, but been
caught
doing it.

Sarah’s mother patted her hand.  “Like I always said, you were too good
for that man.  I’m sure he always sees you as the one who got away.”

“So,” Sarah said, blatantly changing the subject, “what’s our cookie
schedule tomorrow?  How many batches are we making?”

“I think at least seven this time,” her mother said.  “I have some new
clients, so I want to make sure there’s enough for everybody.”

It was her holiday gift to her clients, which used to drive Sarah
crazy.  She argued for years that the clients should be giving their cleaning
lady a year-end bonus, not the other way around.  But her mother continued to think
it was good business to bake treats for her customers, so Sarah had finally
given in and simply offered to help.  She had been her mother’s chief cookie
decorator for the past several Christmas Eves.

“Sarah, you going to be okay?” her dad asked.  “With that job
situation?”

“Yeah, Dad, I’m sure I’ll be fine.  The law business is the same as
yours—really slow this time of year, but then people will start hiring again in
January.”