Chapter Four – Day Two

Lance

There's no music, only the sound of the radio playing the morning talk show, but I whistle a little tune to myself as I scramble the eggs and sizzle the bacon.

I had a good night.

Oh sure, it was only in my dreams that Sarah forgot the last sixteen years of strife between us and ended up in my arms. But we sat on that deck for three hours, watched the sun set over the beachside, and cleared out not only the Cheval, but another bottle of Kenneth's snooty wines.

She laughed; she talked openly. And by the end of the night, she went to bed completely hammered.

I could have taken advantage of the situation – kissed her, maybe even took things further. But not only am I too much a gentleman to do that, I don't want things to start off that way with us.

I want her to welcome me. Then, I want to woo her, like I should have sixteen years ago. I want to make things right between us, if she'll have me at all.

I guess I'm just a sap that way.

So I helped to settle her in bed, walked off to my own room, and went to bed with only my dreams to keep me warm.

“Gah.”

I hear a groan as I'm cooking, and turn around to see her in the doorway, in her blue robe, holding her head.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” I say cheerfully, watching her take a seat at the table.

“Oh, don't talk so loud,” she says with a grimace. “There's already a rock band playing in my head.”

“Yeah,” I say with a slight chuckle. “You had a little too much wine last night.”

“Well, thank God it's the weekend at least,” she says. “Is there any coffee in this seventh circle of hell?”

“Right here, on the counter.”

She walks over and stands next to me as she pulls out a mug and pours hot, black liquid into it. She turns and leans against the counter and doesn't bother with cream or sugar, taking a drink immediately. Then I watch her stare at me as she comes to a realization.

“Wait,” she says. “You're cooking?”

“Yes, ma'am,” I say. “Why, is that a surprise?”

“No offense, but yes,” she says. “I pegged you for more of the beer nuts, take-out, and frozen dinners sort of guy.”

“Well, no offense taken, but you should know that just because I come from money doesn't mean I can't fend for myself,” I say. “We didn't have butlers or maids or chauffeurs. My parents taught me and my sister to spend our money wisely, care for ourselves, and not get too high-and-mighty.”

“And that's why you drive a BMW, eat at $100-a-plate restaurants, and work for your dad, right?” she asks with a smile.

“The spending money wisely part may not have been the lesson that sank in the most. Because what good is having money if you can't spend it on stupid shit?”

“Clearly,” she says, smiling. “And for the record, I was thinking the high-and-mighty thing didn't sink in too well either.”

“First pot-shot of the morning, I'll let it slide. But you'll change your tune when you taste this breakfast.”

I can tell she's surprised when I set a full plate of eggs, bacon, and toast at the table for her.

“This is a side of you I...I've honestly never seen before.”

That's because you've never given me a chance, I want to say. But I know Sarah well enough to know that a snide remark is enough to get her engine revving for a fight.

“Well, now you have,” I say.

She sits down silently, as I make a plate for myself and take the seat across from her.

“Mmm,” she says, a satisfied moan escaping her as she chews. “Mmmm, Lance, this is good! It's so...different.”

“It's my mom's secret recipe for eggs. I'd tell you what's in it, but then I'd have to kill you.”

She smiles at me from across the table.

“Well, it's better than any scrambled eggs I've tried to make, that's for sure.”

We sit completely silent for the next five minutes. It's the first time since our little spat yesterday evening that you can feel the tension that still exists between us. I'm just about to cut it when she speaks up first.

“So, I'm just curious,” she says, “and if I'm out of line, please, feel free to tell me. What is it that brings you here? To need fifty-thousand dollars so badly, I mean.”

As if I needed a reminder, it's just a jab in my heart to remind me that I'm not here for fun; I'm not living out a dream or a fantasy of living a life with Sarah, together and happy.

“Um...promise you won't make any snide remarks or nasty comments?” I ask.

“Promise,” she says. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Well...” I'm still hesitant to tell her; I am hoping to win her heart eventually, after all. “I, uh...I've sort of...not paid my taxes. For, you know, a while.”

She pauses. “How long is a while?”

“Uh...four years...or so.” I clear my throat, embarrassed.

“Oh.” By the look on her face, I can tell she's thinking, but she brushes it off. “Well, that's not so bad. You remember Evan Kramer, from back at Thornhill?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, four years ago, his dad got arrested at dinner with my father,” she says. “Turns out, he embezzled over two million dollars and his business partner found out. You wanna know why?”

“Why?”

“To keep his mistress and their thirteen-year-old love child,” she says, eyebrows raised. “How's that for high society?”

“Oh my God,” I say, chuckling.

“But if anyone asks...his business partner framed him and the mistress and kid are immigrants he helped rescue from Cuba,” she says. “Gotta keep up appearances, you know.”

“It's funny,” I say. “I remember back when we were kids, you were totally fine in your life. You went with the flow of all the brunches and dinner and debutante parties and the nonsense. It didn't bother you. Now, you have such a distaste for it, it's like you just want to forget it all.”

“Well,” she says. “People change. It just...got old.”

“Does it have anything to do with your dad?”

We're both quiet.

“Maybe,” she says quietly. “But can we not talk about him this morning?”

I can tell she's not mad, because she's not screaming at me, throwing things, or storming off. But looking back, I know I shouldn't have asked, or even mentioned him.

“Sorry,” I say.

Her demeanor changes. “No, it's alright, really. I just don't like to badmouth my family before I've had a full cup of coffee and a shower.”

A little chuckle escapes my lips. I take a drink of my own coffee and watch her eating, and I realize...this is the most normal exchange Sarah and I have had in sixteen years. It's possibly the most normal exchange we've ever had, in fact.

Is it too much to think that from Day Two on, this really will be easy? That we can manage our way through this and reach normalcy, if nothing else?

“So I told you my dirty little secret,” I say. “I told you what a bad, bad man I am for committing tax fraud. Now it's your turn. What brings you here? Why are you so desperate for fifty-thousand that you have to resort to living with me?”

“Oh, do I have to?” she asks.

“Hey, I made an ass out of myself,” I say. “Now you have to do the same. So come on, come on, spill it.”

She pauses, and shakes her head a little. “Well...I got hooked in with the wrong crowd.”

“No, that's not it, there's more to the story. Come on.”

She sighs. “I have...I have a gambling addiction.”

My mouth slows chewing, surprised. “Um...wow.”

“My luck took a turn for the worst,” she says. “I made a few too many trips to AC, and...well, here I am. My guy just happens to be a suspected member of the mafia, and I just happen to owe him $45,000.”

“Mafia?” I ask. “Sarah, why didn't you come to me?”

“Oh yeah, because you're the first person I'd think to come to when I'm in need of something,” she says. “Can we just drop it? It's nothing.”

“I don't think it's nothing,” I say.

“I didn't make a big deal out of your dirty little secret!” she says, suddenly raising her voice. “The least you can do is not make a big deal out of mine. Please, drop it!”

I raise my hands in defeat. She seems to accept it, and goes back to her plate of food, but I notice that she picks up her fork with a shaky hand.

It's then I start putting pieces together.

“I've been thinking about taking a weekend and hopping up to AC,” I say. “How is it?”

“Oh,” she says. “Don't get me started.”

“Fun?”

“Lots,” she says. “Maybe too much. Guess that's why I'm in the position I'm in.”

“What hotel did you stay at?”

She pauses. “Oh, the...uh...the Radisson.”

“Is it nice?”

“Oh, yeah, it's beautiful.”

Except there is no Radisson in Atlantic City.

I know for a fact that Sarah has never been to Atlantic City in her life, because about a month ago, Katherine told me that her father had gifted the two of them a weekend in Atlantic City for Katherine's birthday. She had told me how excited Sarah was about going, because she had never been to any city like it. The week after, I asked Katherine how it had gone, but she said they had to cancel at the last minute because Sarah had a “work commitment” and Katherine didn't want to go alone.

She's lying to me.

She becomes nervous and she picks up her cup, downing the rest of her coffee in one gulp.

“I just remembered,” she says. “I have to go to the office.”

“I thought you said you didn't work?” I ask.

“I never said that.”

“You said 'Thank God it's the weekend, at least',” I say.

“Oh, well, yeah,” she says. “I guess that's what I meant, but I just remembered one of the partners wanted me to get some files out of storage yesterday, and I completely forgot to do it before I left.”

“Convenient,” I say.

She seems to either not hear me, or ignores me all together.

“He'll have my head on a silver platter if I don't get it done,” she says. “I assume I'll see you later today?”

“Yeah, how 'bout I make you dinner tonight? Just you and--”

“Yes, sounds fabulous,” she says. “Sorry, I really gotta get dressed, but I'll see you then!”

She runs out of the kitchen and up the stairs so fast that I don't even get a chance to finish my sentence.

Well, that was strange.

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Sarah

He doesn't buy it.

I shouldn't have run out of the kitchen so fast. That was my first mistake. My second was running into him as I grabbed my bag and was about to head out the door, when he noticed I was in such a hurry I was wearing two different shoes.

He must think I'm such an idiot.

Wait, why do I care again?

I don't care. I have to remember that. All I care about is making it through today and the next ninety-eight days after this, and keeping my family secrets safeguarded from him.

Before I do any more damage.

Coming into the office today was a lie. I didn't really forget to bring files up from storage to my boss's office, but I had to get away, and that was the only excuse I could think of. I couldn't just escape to my room or the balcony, because the persistent asshole wouldn't be afraid to follow me and harass me for information, I'm sure. But I know he won't follow me to my office, because he doesn't step foot inside the competing law firm unless he absolutely has to.

But I did know that Mr. Beckett needed me to bring a box of files up to his office on Monday, so why not get a head start on the week?

It only takes twenty minutes to find the box in storage, and I carry it through the elevator doors wondering how I'm going to make up excuses to be gone from the office for more than half an hour. The elevator doors are just closing when I'm startled by someone stopping them with their hand.

He peeks inside as they open, and smiles at me.

“Sarah,” he says.

My stomach drops to my knees at the sound of his voice.

“Blake? What the hell are you doing here?”