Swept Away (32 page)

“I haven't even seen her. I talked to her, you know?”

“What did she say you were to do?”

Hedda chewed her lip and raised her watery eyes upward. “She said, ‘Why don't you just go live with your precious
Doris!
'”

Jennifer smiled a small smile. She put the palm of her hand against Hedda's damp cheek and said, “I think that can be arranged. That can most definitely be arranged.”

one year later

There was too much excitement in the air for anyone to sleep in. It was graduation day. Hedda was the first one up to let Jeb, the puppy, outside. The sun was barely rising. Jennifer couldn't just lie there quietly. Even though she made a few grumbling noises about early risers, she was grateful she could finally get out of bed. In less than five minutes they were dressed and banging on Alex's door, getting him up for a ride.

“Do you think he'll be mad?” Hedda asked.

“If he is, he'll get over it fast. Any day now, we'll have lambs.”

“What if Jeb barks at them?”

“Then you have to take him around the block. We don't want a stampede.”

“You won't bark, will you, buddy? That's a good boy.”

Alex answered the door fully dressed, newspaper in hand. “I guess no one felt like sleeping in.”

“Not today,” Jennifer said. “Get your bike.”

Within minutes they were off in the direction of the park where the bighorns grazed. They looked every bit the all-American family—but things hadn't been easy.

A year ago Hedda had moved in with Jennifer. The first hard pill to swallow had been Joey—his grandparents came from Tucson to fetch him from Child Protective Services and took him home without so much as a goodbye to Hedda. It devastated her. But a few letters and phone calls later, a plan for visits was established, and while difficult at first, everyone settled into the routine and enjoyed their time together. Most often, Hedda flew to Tucson, a quick and inexpensive trip, but occasionally Joey's grandparents brought him to Nevada for a visit. Today marked one of those times—they were coming to Hedda's high school graduation. Afterward, the seniors would have their all-night party, and on Sunday there would be a big open house at the Garcias'.

Then there was Sylvia—who put in an appearance now and then, sometimes sober, sometimes not. But even if the disappointment lingered, the danger was past—Joey's grandparents had filed for custody and Hedda, being almost eighteen, was not obligated to stay in the custody of her mother. Learning to cope sanely with the ups and downs of growing up with an alcoholic was growing easier for Hedda with the help of a support group known as Alateen.

And of course there was Alice—who had not waited long before following Louise. Saying goodbye to her took its toll on everyone, but no one grieved as hard as Jennifer. Everyone from Buzz to Rose thought she should get another dog right away, but she insisted she needed time to think about that, and time to miss her friend. So it was just recently that Alex and Hedda, taking matters into their own hands, brought Jeb to her. “I can't go away to school and leave you with just Alex and Rose,” Hedda said.

But until Hedda left, Jeb was her baby. He clung to her, chewed her shoes and socks, slept in her bed when he got too fussy in the kennel, and wouldn't be still for anyone else.

“I'm going to be taking care of someone else's dog again,” Jennifer said.

So they cried a lot that first year together, but laughed a lot, as well. Rose would pop over and find Jennifer and Hedda on the sofa holding each other, tears flowing over Joey or Alice or even Sylvia, and she would say, “Building an awful damn lot of character around here again.” And the tears would melt into laughter.

Adjustment problems came and went, and all through that year they kept close tabs on the indictment and prosecution of Nick Noble. Numerous felony counts were leveled by the federal government and it looked as if he was going away for a long time. His allies vanished as his assets were frozen, likely to be seized with his convictions. And Barbara didn't make out too well; she had counted on a big settlement out of Nick's wealth, and it seemed she had very little she could call her own.

But Jennifer was fine. Besides some jewelry, nothing of her savings or investments could be linked to any ill-gotten gains. Her short-term plans for that money were to supplement her diner income and make sure that Hedda, already an academic-scholarship recipient, had no shortfall of money for college.

Jeb, three months old and already fourteen pounds, rode in the basket on Hedda's bike, and when they got to the park the bighorns were already there, complete with a new flock of lambs. Jeb made a puppyish gurgling growl and Hedda clamped a gentle hand over his snout and told him to be a gentleman.

“How many do you count?” Jennifer asked her.

“Five,” she said. “No, six.”

“Doesn't it make you feel brand-new to see the lambs in spring? It's like life is starting today, and is just going to get better and better. God, I love my life!” Jennifer said.

Hedda made a strange sound and buried her face in Jeb's fur.

“Don't you dare start crying! We're not crying today! We have a million great surprises ready for you!”

She lifted her head, her eyes glistening. “You'd better give me one now,” she said. “I'm feeling a little sentimental, not to mention freaked out about college.”

“Okay. One. Just before you go to school, we're going to combine your going-away party with a wedding reception.”

“Oh, really?” she said. “Am I getting married?”

“I don't think so,” Alex said. “Not till you're twenty-seven. But we are. We thought we'd better make it legal since our chaperone is going to be away so much.”

“Wow,” she said, her eyes brightening. “Are you getting a big ring?”

“No, honey,” she said. “I'm all done with big rings. I'm getting a big man.”

* * * * *

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The Life She Wants

by Robyn Carr

Prologue

When the truth became brutally evident she wondered how it had escaped her for so long.

Emma Shay Compton knew that her marriage to Richard looked like a fairy tale to many and though she had loved Richard, she had always felt something was lacking. She couldn't put her finger on it, it was so vague. Richard was good to her, generous, though he was an extremely busy man, and soon after their wedding he became remote. Distant. She told herself mega-rich brokers don't sit around the house coddling their young wives; they work sixteen-hour days. They're never far from their phones. They seem to command multitudes. And if a person, even his wife, wanted to get on his calendar, she had to plan ahead. So, whenever she felt that something was wrong with her marriage, she'd blame herself.

When Richard's lawyers began to meet with him to discuss problems with the SEC, she barely noticed. When she asked him about media reports that his company was being investigated for securities fraud, he calmly said, “Slow news day.”

Then he lectured her. “Pay attention to the financial pages—it happens every day. Several multibillion-dollar banking and investment corporations are currently being investigated. The SEC has to justify its existence somehow. I resent the time suck, but it won't last long.”

She didn't worry about it, though she did pay attention as he suggested. Of course he was right—there were many investigations, steep fines, reorganizations, buyouts, companies shutting down. The banking and investment world was under very close scrutiny.

Then he said they had to appear in court, he and his legal team. He wanted her by his side and asked if she could get it on her schedule and she laughed. “I'm not the one with a full schedule, Richard.”

He smiled his perfect, confident, calm smile. He touched her cheek. “You won't have to do or say anything.”

The morning they were to appear in court he had noticed the suit she laid over the chair and said, “Perfect.” Then he went into his bathroom. Sitting at her dressing table, she was smoothing lotion on her legs. She heard the water running in his sink. And then she heard, “Son of a bitch!”

He'd cut himself shaving and swore—not unusual for him. But she met her own eyes in the mirror. Suddenly she knew. She'd been living a lie and everything said about him was true.

Her husband was a cold, calculating liar and thief. And she couldn't pretend anymore.

Chapter One

It's the little things that will break you. Emma Shay had been thinking about that a lot lately. She stood strong while everything was taken from her, while she was virtually imprisoned at a little motel near the Jersey shore, while her husband was buried, while the media spun a sordid tale of deceit and thievery that implied she'd been aware, if not complicit, in her late husband's crimes. Stood. Strong. But, when the heel broke on her best sling-back pumps and she tumbled down the courthouse steps, she collapsed in tears. The photo was printed everywhere, even
People
magazine. When she was asked to please stop coming to her yoga studio, she thought she would die of shame and cried herself to sleep. No one had ever explained to her that the last straw weighed almost nothing.

Everything in her Manhattan apartment and vacation home had been auctioned off. She packed up some practical items to take with her and donated some of her casual clothing to women's shelters. Of course anything of value—the art, crystal, china, silver and jewelry had been seized quickly, even items she could prove had nothing to do with Richard's business, including wedding gifts from friends. They took her designer clothing. Her Vera Wang wedding gown was gone. She was allowed to keep a couple sets of good sheets, towels, one set of kitchenware, some glasses, a few place mats, napkins and so on. She had a box of photos, most from before Richard. She stuffed it all in her Prius. The Jag was gone, of course.

She had been offered a financial settlement, since they couldn't establish that she had anything to do with Richard's Ponzi scheme; couldn't prove it since she was innocent. She hadn't testified against him—not out of loyalty or because it was her legal prerogative, but rather because she had nothing to say, nothing upon which to leverage some kind of deal. She hadn't been in court every day out of support for Richard but because it was the best way for her to learn about the crimes he was accused of. She had come into the marriage with nine thousand dollars in savings; she left as a widow, keeping nine thousand in a checking account. It would be her emergency fund. She started a trip across the country, leaving New York behind and heading for Sonoma County, where she grew up.

She'd given it all a great deal of thought. She'd been thinking about it for months before Richard's death. She could've kept the entire settlement and retired to the Caribbean. Or maybe Europe. She'd been fond of Switzerland. She could change her name, color her hair, lie about her past... But eventually people would figure her out and then what? Run again?

Instead, she surrendered the settlement, gave up everything she could have kept. She didn't want Richard's ill-gotten gains. Even though she hadn't swindled anyone, she couldn't, in good conscience, touch any of it.

There were people she knew back in the Santa Rosa area, a few she'd stayed in touch with. The area was familiar to her. There wasn't much family anymore—her stepmother, Rosemary, had moved to Palm Springs with her third husband. As far as she knew, Emma's stepsister, Anna, and half sister, Lauren, still lived in the house they'd all grown up in. They'd all washed their hands of Emma when Richard was indicted. In fact, the last time she'd talked to her stepmother was right before Richard's death, when all the walls were tumbling down. Emma was literally in hiding from the angry victims of Richard's fraud—victims who believed Emma had gotten away with some of their money. Rosemary had said, “Well, your greed has certainly cost you this time.”

“Rosemary, I didn't do anything,” Emma reminded her.

And then Rosemary said what everyone thought. “So you
say
.”

Well, Rosemary had always thought the worst of her. But Emma hoped the people she knew in Sonoma County wouldn't. She'd grown up there, gone to Catholic school and public high school there. And she thought it was extremely unlikely any clients, now victims, of Richard's New York-based investment company hailed from the little towns in Sonoma County.

Her closest friend, possibly her only friend at this point, Lyle Dressler, found her a little furnished bungalow in Sebastopol. Lyle and his partner lived in the town, so she had some moral support there.

Emma was thirty-four and had married Richard Compton nine years ago. He was a sharp, handsome, successful forty-five when they married. At twenty-five she'd been completely under his spell. He might have been twenty years older than her, but forty-five was hardly considered old. He was fit, handsome, brilliant, rich and powerful. In fact, he was considered one of the most desired bachelors in New York City.

Rosemary and Emma's sisters had certainly liked him
then
. They were eager to travel to New York to attend any social event Richard would grudgingly include them in. But they hadn't offered one ounce of support to Emma during the takedown.

The few years of marriage before the investigation and indictment hadn't been heaven on earth, but they weren't bad. Her complaints seemed to be standard among people she knew—he was busy, preoccupied, they didn't spend enough time together even when they were traveling. The first friends she'd made through work in New York had gradually drifted away once she settled into her multimillion-dollar marriage. She'd never quite fit in with the elite crowd, so she'd been a little lonely. It seemed like she was always around people, doing her part with committee work, exercising, decorating, entertaining, feeling that she must be indispensable to Richard. However, he was all she really had. It was a dark and terrible day when she realized he was a complete stranger.

Before her fifth anniversary, the investigation had begun. Before the seventh, indictments had been handed down and assets frozen. She spent her eighth anniversary in court. Richard's defense attorneys had managed many a delay but eventually there was a trial—a circus of a trial—and she appeared to be the trusting, good wife, head held high. Richard's mother and sister had not come to the trial and refused interviews. She'd always assumed they didn't think she was good enough for Richard, but after the trial she changed her opinion. They must have known all about him. He was dark and empty inside.

He never talked to her about it, at least not until the ugly, bitter end. When she asked about the investigation he just said they were out to get him, that business was tough but he was tougher, that they'd never prove anything. At the end there had been a few brief, nasty but revealing discourses.
How could you? How could I
not?
How could you justify the greed? My greed? How about their greed? Do they have to justify it? They wanted me to do anything to make them money! They wanted me to spin straw into gold even if I had to lie, cheat and steal! Each one of them just wanted their payday before it all broke!

The feds proved everything with ease. Employees cut deals and testified against him. Truckloads of documentation proved securities fraud, theft, mail fraud, wire fraud, money laundering... The list was long. When the end was near, when he'd attempted a getaway and been unceremoniously returned by US Marshals, when his offshore accounts had been located and identified, when he faced a long jail sentence with no nest egg left hidden away, Richard shot himself.

Of course no one believed Emma had no idea. Apparently people thought he came home from the office and bared his soul over a drink. He had not.

The Richard she knew was obviously a con man, a chameleon. He could be so charming, so devoted. But he always had a plan and always wanted something more.
Why wouldn't I marry you? You were an outstanding investment. Perfect for the role! It's a well-known fact—people trust married men more than single men.
He was a narcissist, a manipulator, a liar and cheat. He was so damn good at it, a person could feel almost honored to be manipulated and lied to by him. He had the looks of Richard Gere, the brilliance of Steve Jobs, the ethics of Bernie Madoff. Thank God he wasn't as successful as Bernie. Richard had only managed to steal about a hundred million.

What
did
she know? She knew he was private; he didn't talk about work, which she thought was normal behavior for a powerful man. He was an amazing communicator socially and in business, but once he stopped courting her, he stopped telling her stories about his family, his youth, college, about his early years on Wall Street. She knew he didn't have many old friends, just a lot of business contacts. She never met college pals or colleagues from his early professional days. He did routinely ask her about her day, however. He'd ask her about her schedule, her projects, what she did, who she talked to, what was happening in her world. When he was home, that is—he was often working late or traveling. The thing that set Richard apart from other, mediocre con men—he knew how to
listen
. People, herself included, thought they'd learned something about him when he hadn't said a word about himself. But he listened to them. Raptly. They were thrilled by this attention.

One nine-year marriage, a few years of which had been weirdly adequate, five years of which had been a nightmare. Now she wondered when the nightmare would end.

* * *

Emma drove directly to Lyle's flower shop,
Hello, Gorgeous,
named for Barbra Streisand, of course. Lyle had been wonderful to her through this whole ordeal. He hadn't been able to be in New York with her very often. Not only was it a great, costly distance but there was also the small complication that his partner, Ethan, had never been particularly fond of Emma, though he didn't really know her. Lyle had made a couple of trips, however, and called almost daily during the rough patches. She understood about Ethan. But Lyle and Emma had been friends long before Ethan came into his life. For reasons unknown, Ethan had never warmed to her. Emma suspected good old-fashioned jealousy, as if Emma might bring out Lyle's straight side or something. So Emma and Ethan had always had a rather cool regard for each other. But since Richard's debacle, Ethan's regard had gone from cool to frigid.

But—and this was an important but—if Ethan went on about his dislike and disapproval of Emma too much, he was going to lose Lyle, and he might be bitchy but he wasn't stupid.

Emma stood outside the shop and took a deep breath before walking through the door. And of course, who should be behind the counter but Ethan. “Well, Emma, I see you made it,” he said as though it took effort to be kind.

“Yes, thank you,” she answered carefully.

“Rough journey?” Ethan surprised her by asking.

“In every way,” she said.

“Well, there you are,” Lyle said as he came from the back and rushed over to embrace her. “Would you like a cup of coffee or something before we head over to Penny's house?”

She shook her head. “I parked down the block in the only available space. I'd like to get going—I have a lot to do.”

“Sure,” he said. He turned to Ethan. “I'm going to give Em a hand, visit with Penny a little. I'll probably grab something to eat with them. I won't be late.”

Ethan lifted his chin and sniffed, but his reply was perfectly appropriate. “I think I'll drop in on Nora and Ed. Sounds like a good night to get a little uncle time.”

“Excellent. Give them my love.”

Then, hand on her elbow, Lyle escorted her out of the shop. “I'm parked right here. I'll drive you down to your car,” he said.