insley hugged her knees and rested her chin upon them. Her last paycheck from Voltex lay on the coffee table, promising one more month of rent. When Chris hired her, they never discussed salary, but she doubted making lattes, tips included, would cut it. But at least she hadn’t had to dip into her savings yet.
She smiled as an image of Mrs. Jeffreys’s rosy face came to mind and the five- to ten-dollar bills she dropped in the tip jar. Not that Ainsley expected charity, but the generosity behind the gesture touched her deeply.
But even that well would run dry eventually, which meant she needed to find another job soon.
And spend less time with Chris.
Oy! What silly schoolgirl reasoning, and yet, she suspected her feelings for her him were more than a passing crush. When he looked into her eyes, it felt like he could see in the depths of the soul—even more than that, like somehow their hearts longed to be united. It was an emotion she’d never felt before, and she didn’t quite know how to deal with it. Her first instinct was to quit her job and run, but her budget prevented it.
Her doorbell rang. Glancing at the clock, she smoothed her hair and crossed the living room, mentally sifting between three possible visitors: her mom, Chris, or Richard.
More than likely, Richard, coming with more psychobabble on why their breakup was caused by her unresolved issues. Uh-huh. She was the one with issues. Right.
“Oh!” Wide-eyed, she stared at Richard’s mother.
Her gaze swept Ainsley’s frame and her face puckered. “You look well.”
“Why thank you.” I think. “Uh . . . would you like to come in?” She stepped aside to allow Mrs. Hollis in.
“I stopped by the other day with soup and crackers, but you were out.”
Uh, OK . . .Thank you.” Did Richard put her up to this? She almost laughed. “Here’s some soup. Do you like it? Enough to go through with the wedding?” “What can I do for you, Mrs. Hollis?”
“Richard said you were ill, so I—”
“He what?”
“He said you were ill. You were ill, weren’t you?”
“Not in the last year, no.” And to think, Richard accused her of being irrational. Seriously, what was this about?
“Then tell me, Ainsley,” she crossed her arms, “why you neglected to come to your formal engagement dinner?”
Ainsley blinked. “Why? Surely he told you . . . She let out a whoosh of air. “I’m sorry you had to hear this from me, but your son and I are no longer engaged.”
“I don’t understand.”
Ainsley guided her to the couch, explaining, as gently as she could, what had happened.
“But why would Richard . . . ?” Her face hardened. She rose, clutching her purse to her chest. “Apparently my son and I need to talk. Have a good day.”
Ainsley followed her to the door, unable to find an appropriate parting phrase. Somehow, “Great to see you,” didn’t seem right.
Chris cruised through the aisles of Big Savings in search of quality toys at bulk prices. “Jingle Bells” played from overhead speakers, adding a bounce to his step. He paused in front of a Matchbox Car display, multiplying the price times four then adding the total to the toys already in his cart. Logically, the kids at the shelter needed more practical gifts like gloves, socks, and underwear, but he couldn’t bring himself to buy those things. Besides, logic and Christmas didn’t belong in the same sentence, and every child deserved something fun in their stockings.
Did those kids even have stockings? Sighing, he pulled out his wallet and sifted through the cash tucked inside. A long list of upcoming expenses ran through his mind. At least business at the café appeared to be picking up.
Give and you will be given, with good measure, right? Lord, I’m taking You on Your word here, because I would love to see each one of those little faces light up when I hand them a stocking full of goodies. And candy.
Richard massaged his temples, his mother’s sharp voice grating in his ears. “I didn’t feel it worth mentioning.” He moved to the couch and dropped into it.
His mother hovered in the middle of the room, back rod straight, clutching her purse. “Not worth mentioning? Ainsley tells you it’s over, and you don’t think it’s worth mentioning? You’d rather I learn of this after a formal announcement is made to all of your father’s colleagues?”
“You know her history, Mother. Surely you expected a moment’s hesitation to arise.”
“A moment’s hesitation doesn’t last for weeks, son.”
“It’s difficult to put a timetable on these sorts of things, but I know her. She’ll come around.”
“I don’t think so. She’s made up her mind. I could tell. We need to tell your father.”
Richard stiffened. “There’s no need for that. Not yet. Give her time. She just lost her job—”
“Whatever for?” Her lips pressed together. “I’m concerned, Richard. If Ainsley is as irresponsible as she appears, then I’d rather you find someone else to carry on the Hollis family name.”
“She’s not unstable, just confused. Surely you felt as much when Father asked you to marry him?”
She perched on the edge of a recliner, hands cupped over her knees, and angled her head. A slight smile emerged. “Yes, I do. I wanted the exciting romance I saw all my friends experience, but then I grew up and realized marriage is much more than physical attraction or fluttering hearts. It’s a formal agreement to work together, as a team. The question I have for you is, do you really believe Ainsley to be your life partner?”
“I do. And I am certain everything will right itself by the end of the month.”
“Perhaps. But in case you’re wrong and her concerns run deeper, I think it’s best if we hold off on making any more arrangements. Although I do hope it’ll be resolved before August.”
In order to meet the conditions of the trust, which affected more than his inheritance. “It will be; I assure you.”
He showed his mother out then paced the living room. If only his grandfather were alive today, he’d tell him how ludicrous those conditions were. To think that Richard’s marriage, or lack thereof, could affect his family’s standing, potentially even cost his father his practice. Likely his grandfather received great satisfaction knowing his son, whom he deemed a colossal failure, would in turn raise another failure, thus sealing his fate.
As if the old coot had room to talk, dying alone on a hospital bed with only a handful of people by his side, most of whom were paid to be there. Even then, with tubes stuck up his nose and lungs rasping for breath, he’d used every last opportunity to level both Richard and his father—to show them once again how worthless he thought they were.
“I imagine the bulk of my estate will be going to the Audubon Society, but I welcome your attempts to prove me wrong.”
And now Ainsley threatened to make good on Grandfather Hollis’s predictions. Richard’s jaw clenched, every muscle in his body tightening, as an image of Mr. Langley, her snake-charming neighbor, came to mind.
Richard refused to admit defeat yet. He just needed to determine a logical course of action. Thinking, he tapped on his chin. He smiled as a plan took form—one guaranteed to send his little princess running back to his arms.
He crossed the room, pulled open a filing cabinet, and sifted through old cases, mentally reviewing each one. Most were useless—a college professor who suffered a nervous breakdown, a middle-aged housewife looking for a doting ear. Two of them, however, offered potential. Holding his thumb as a place marker, he sat behind his office chair and turned on his desktop. Fifteen minutes later, refreshed by a large file of therapy notes, he grabbed the phone and dialed Lyle Wheeler’s number.
A woman answered. “Wheelers’ residence. May I help you?”
He leaned back in his chair. “Good morning, Mrs. Wheeler. May I speak with your husband, please?”
“Who’s calling?”
He cleared his throat to suppress a chuckle. “Dr. Hollis from Hollis Psychiatrics.”
Silence hung between them, and Richard’s smile widened as an image of Lyle’s wife, forehead creased in confusion, came to mind.
“In regard to?”
He twirled a pen in his fingers. “He will know, I am sure.”
“Hold on.” The phone clanked against something hard, followed by the sound of muffled voices, what appeared to be footsteps, then a door closing.
A moment later, Mr. Lyle came on. “Mr. Hollis, I’m surprised you’re calling me at home. You may remember, my wife had no knowledge of our visits, or . . . the situation.”
“I remember. And how have things been, with your wife I mean?”
“Fine.” His voice sharpened. “As I mentioned in my last appointment, now that the past is behind me, I’m determined to do everything I can to make our marriage work. Thanks to you, of course, and your impulse-control-behavior-modification approach.”
“Then I’m sure you’re unwilling to allow anything from the past resurface that might create unnecessary marital tension?”
“Are you asking if I continue to engage in risky behavior? Absolutely not. And if there’s nothing else, I really need to—”
“I’ve been going through my notes from our therapy sessions, and it occurred to me how damaging it would be if anyone ever got ahold of them.”
He waited for his words to take hold.
“What are you saying?” Mr. Lyle’s voice dipped to a coarse whisper.
“It appears, Mr. Wheeler, you and I can be of help to one another. Are you still working for Mega-tech Security?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. Then you will have no problem locating the information I need.” He draped his ankle over his knee, explaining, in detail, what Mr. Wheeler needed to do in order to secure silence.
“You can’t do that. As my psychiatrist, you’re legally bound to maintain confidentiality.”
“As your former psychiatrist, you mean? And of course you are right, but could I help it if information leaked out? You know as well as I the security risks with using online databases. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I saved files to an insecure server.”
Mr. Wheeler cursed. “If I do this, you’ll permanently delete my files?”
Richard rubbed his lips with his index finger. Now why would he do that, when Mr. Wheeler proved so helpful? “Of course.”