The Life She Wants (10 page)

Their history was so convoluted, so complex. From treasured childhood friends to bitter enemies, through a maze of anger, guilt, envy, pity. For the longest time Riley only wanted Emma to forgive her or at least join her in blaming Jock. She went through periods of terrible emotional pain and sadness. Then periods of such anger—if Emma loved Jock so much, why hadn't she even returned his calls in weeks? And when she saw a picture of Emma in her designer wedding gown in a carriage in Central Park, as beautiful and regal as any duchess while Riley was getting by scrubbing floors and balancing the books late at night, she wondered how Emma could still be mad that things didn't work out with Jock. Emma seemed to always land on her feet.

Then she witnessed, from afar, Emma's monumental fall. And it ripped her to shreds. But she didn't reach out. No, she had too much pride for that. Emma hadn't reached out when Riley was struggling and feeling so alone.

I was hurt at least as much! Can't she see that? That it was all so hard?

They had always been there for each other, until that first semester of college.
You didn't have to be so mean
, she said to herself. But Riley wanted to be clear—this was her company, her business; it was a job, not an invitation to reconcile or renew the friendship. She would never beg again.

But at long last, she'd gotten it out. She said her piece. She saw Emma's surprise and remorse painted on her face. Emma said she was sorry and that she'd forgiven Riley long ago—it was done. It was really done. Neither of them would go back but maybe now they could really move forward.

Riley shut everything down, switched the phones to forward to her cell, grabbed her purse and headed for the parking lot.

Chapter Seven

Riley went to Starbucks, a place that saw her at least once a day.

She rarely sat around inside. She was usually in and out and on her way—always so much to do. There were those who camped in Starbucks for hours, doing their emails or writing something or studying. People who didn't have to be somewhere every minute. Not Riley. She never relaxed.

She bought a newspaper on her way inside. She had a lot to process, something she could do while hiding behind a newspaper, the great barrier.

It was such a cold November day—a hot coffee with heavy cream sounded good. And there was a nice little table by the window that looked out on the patio that Starbucks shared with the deli. She smiled at a couple of people she didn't know but saw in there a lot. Then she settled behind the paper.

Women, she thought. Difficult, complex, emotional creatures. She should know. Not only was she difficult and complex, she also had far more women employees than men. She had those teams of three or four females who found issues they couldn't get beyond just because of something that was said or a look they didn't like or maybe a little power struggle. She had to mediate all the time. Or Nick did. Nick was only good at getting results because he didn't get what was going on with the women so he just scared them. “Can you work this out? Or do I separate the whole unit and scatter you around on different crews? Because you might not like your new crewmates any better. If you can't get along, then do your job and don't talk to each other, but you'd damn well better communicate on job issues. Are we all clear?”

She smiled thinking about that. A typical father-to-little-girls approach. He might as well say, “Since I can't understand what you're all upset about, just stop it.”

Nick took problems getting the job done properly a lot more seriously than he regarded bickering. But women, ah, they could dig in. Grudges between women could last centuries. And they were very personal—a woman who wasn't usually annoyed could be deeply offended by an offhand remark about the choices of her teenager. “If you'd tell that lazy kid of yours he's not getting free rent anymore, I bet he'd get off his ass and get a job or go to school.”
Pow
. Instant feud.

Sexist as it was, this sort of thing happened less often with men. Oh, they had their fights and their feuds, no question about it, and were even less likely to have dialogue that worked it out. They might blow up but they were less prickly and it was rare for them to obsess.

Riley, tough and smart and successful, had obsessed about Emma for years. She felt wedged between two extremes—being furious with Emma and feeling guilty over what she'd done. She'd tried so hard to make up with Emma, to beg her forgiveness! And Emma turned her back. Now, when Emma was down and out, Riley was supposed to be the benevolent one? Looking at both of their lives, from that point till now, things had just been...awry. Off. Emma had hooked up with a bad man and Riley? No man. At. All.

“Excuse me,” a male voice said. “Is this chair taken?”

What perfect timing, she thought. A man. She lowered her newspaper, trying to think how she would politely say she didn't want to share the table or have a conversation.

“Hey,” he said, smiling handsomely. “It's you.”

“I...ah...”

He put out a hand and didn't let her finish. “Logan. Logan Danner. We've never officially met, but we've run into each other at the grocery store at least five times, which means you either live or work around here.”

Don't do it, she told herself. She took his hand. “Riley. I, ah...I work not too far from here and am addicted to coffee that costs seven dollars a cup. Bad habit.”

He laughed and sat down. “I guess it could be worse. We could run into each other at a crack house... Now, that would be bad.”

“Look...”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” he said. “You weren't looking for company, my mistake. I'll just make this a to-go cup and catch you someday at the deli counter...”

“No, I'm sorry,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I was just trying to shake off a problem I had at work. Go ahead. Take the chair. But I might not be very conversational.”

He didn't hesitate. “I'm a good listener, if you feel like talking.”

“No, thanks. Let's stick to the price of melons.”

“I'm also a good talker, if you'd rather not. Or we can pass the time as if we're alone.” He reached down and pulled a small laptop out of a canvas shoulder bag. He put it on the table and opened it up. He turned it on. He sipped his coffee. He peeked at her around the screen.

She laughed lightly. “You're being very obvious.”

He gazed over the screen. “In what way?”

“Are you trying to get my attention? Interest me?”

“I am,” he said. “How'm I doing?”

“You're actually terrible at it,” she said, laughter in her voice. “You verge on annoying. More to the point, we keep running into each other. Are you stalking me?”

“That would be rude,” he said. “Not to mention a felony. Well, it becomes a felony if it's threatening, but it's a misdemeanor when it's just rude.”

“And you know these things how?”

“I'm a police detective.”

She started to laugh. “Oh, man, the only pickup line that works better than that is being a Navy SEAL.”

He shifted his weight around and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open. Sure enough, badge and ID. “Hold on, there,” she said. She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, poising over the open wallet to snap a picture.

He put his hand over hers, redirecting the phone lens. “Does this mean you're going to find out if I'm real before you go out with me?”

She shrugged. “I might find out if you're real before I give you advice on melons again or warn you off the macaroni salad in the deli. A date has never occurred to me. Or interested me.”

He let go of the phone, allowing her to take the picture. “You're brutal. Knock yourself out.”

She snapped the picture. “What kind of detective are you?” she asked.

“Property crimes.”

“And that is?”

“Be careful about making friendly conversation, Riley. You might be acting less like a meanie and more like a girl. Property crimes, burglary. Someone stole your computer and your diamond ring and I'm going to get them back for you. They did not rob you—robbery is when there's a weapon involved.”

“A deadly weapon?” she asked, intrigued.

He raised one brow. “Any weapon could be deadly. A spoon could be deadly if you know how to use it. Property crimes is property stolen from private property—your house, your business, your car, your person, without the spoon, of course.” He grinned stupidly.

“And why do I keep running into you?”

“This little shopping center is between work and my house. And I'm in the field a lot. But running into you all the time is one of the perks. So—what do you think? Dinner? Hike? Bike ride? Conventional date?”

“Coffee,” she said. “We're having coffee. I don't date.”

“I didn't see a ring...”

She shook her head. “Not married, just not dating.”

“You have to have a reason,” he informed her.

“No,” she said. “I don't.”

“Do you mind if I ask—what do you do?”

“I do mind, but I'll tell you, but only because I think you really are a policeman. I own a small business. Plus, I'm a single mother and have an elderly mother. So you see, very busy.”

He closed the computer and leaned an elbow on it. “Look, I admit I've been hanging out at the grocery store a lot since you advised me on produce. Can't this be any easier? I'm overstocked in melons. What do you like to do besides work? Maybe we could go for a run? Play catch in the park? Meet for coffee a lot?”

“Why?” she asked.

He tilted his head. “I'm attracted to you?”

“Was that a question?” she asked.

“I haven't been out with a woman in a while. Well, haven't had a date with a woman. My partner is a woman, married to a great big firefighter, three little kids. My sister and ex-wife are best friends and believe me, their attempts at fixing me up are miserable...”

“Oh, God, that must be interesting! Your sister and your ex-wife?”

“It's awful. But see, I'm interesting,” he said, triumphant. He looked around. “Would you like something to eat? Doughnut?”

She laughed at him because he was so ridiculous. Also, undeniably cute. “So it's true—cops and doughnuts.”

“I was thinking of you. I've had my quota today. Come on, Riley. Let's just plan something. It can be public, daylight, completely safe and platonic. I'll show you my gun,” he said, lifting his eyebrows, Groucho Marx style.

She laughed again. “No,” she said. She stood up. “See you in produce,” she said, walking out.

It took him a moment to get his computer put away in his canvas bag and grab his coffee, following her. “Hang on,” he yelled. He caught up with her and handed her a business card. “This will make your mission easier.”

She looked at it.
Sgt. Logan Danner, Santa Rosa Police, Property Crimes
. Along with a phone number and extension.

“Would you like my cell number?” he asked.

“No.”

“It's on the card anyway. Come on, Riley. I bet we'd have fun.”

She turned before getting in her car. “No. And if you follow me, I'll call your boss. I'll tell on you.”

“Hey, no worries. My boss likes me,” he said.

Riley headed for home. But she smiled the whole way. He was handsome in a very hot way and adorably funny. He was tempting.

Whoa, Riley
, she thought.
Really? Tempting? Now that's a first.
It wasn't as if she hadn't been flirted with or asked out on a date before. She'd actually been out a few times—nothing to write home about. Definitely no relationship stuff. It wasn't frequent since she hung out at work, at home, with Maddie and her mom, shopping for food and clothes, taking the occasional run...

Did he know about the running? Oh, if he'd been watching her, she was going to turn him in to his boss
and
tell Adam. Adam was
very
protective.

But for the first time in many, many years, she was feeling like maybe a casual friendship with a man might interest her. She wondered if seeing Emma and having that first confrontation behind her had anything to do with her change of mood.

But really, did he know about her running? Because if he did, she was going to deal harshly with him.

Still, she chuckled to herself. And I have his badge number.

She'd done the right thing with Emma. She'd had it out with her and given her a job. From now on she'd be nice; she'd be professional; she'd keep a safe space between them.

And maybe really get on with her life.

At last.

* * *

So Riley had drawn her line in the sand, Emma thought. It was clear—there were still some hard feelings, some resentment. Emma sulked for a minute, fighting melancholy. There was something about women and friendship that could run so deep, so personal, it was almost harder to say goodbye to a relationship like that than it was to break up with a man. She missed that friendship with Riley, so intimate and trusted. She grieved that it was forever gone.

But then she began to lighten up. She'd been beaned with a bedpan, for God's sake. Let Riley be a little superior—she'd survived better than Emma had. They weren't going to be friends. But Emma had a job. A decent job. And she had no doubt that tough little Riley wouldn't let anything happen to her.
That won't happen in my company!

Once she settled that in her mind, she found herself almost breathless with excitement about her new job. There was no question in her mind, it would be physically demanding and dirty and she was ecstatic. She was sure it wouldn't be long—only days, perhaps—before this pink cloud would burst and the reality would settle in—she had signed on for hard work. But in the moment, it felt good on so many levels. She
wanted
hard work; it would help her scour from her past the stain of all that excess she had indulged in but never deserved. It would prove she could take on tough work and survive. In a way it felt like the hard labor she had earned. Her penance, though she was innocent. She was not innocent of loving wealth, however. And she had made trade-offs along the way. Not amoral or unethical trade-offs, but she had accepted her busy, sometimes indifferent husband, accepted loneliness, made excuses, ignored red flags, and all along she'd wondered, secretly and silently, what was wrong. And wondered, if he'd been penniless, would she have reconsidered? For that alone she should atone.

It would be dirty work for a clean paycheck, beholden only to her effort. And it would be safe.

To her astonishment, Riley made her feel safe. Riley's self-righteous stubbornness alone smoothly and effortlessly guaranteed a secure and protected work environment and... Dear God. And...Emma
trusted her.
After sixteen years of lamenting she could never really trust again, who did she put her faith in but the very person she feared could betray her. The very person who didn't want her for a friend.

“She gave me a job,” she said into the phone to Adam. Her voice was quiet and breathy, astonished and secretive.

“Of course she did,” he said.

“You didn't even tell her how often we'd been in touch,” she said.

“I told you—I'm not interested in trying to reunite the two of you. How about a glass of wine to celebrate?”

“Can we meet at that wine bar?” she asked.

He chuckled. “I think instead I'll bring a bottle and some fruit and cheese over to your place, if you'll let me. I have to work in the morning. It can't be a late night.”