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I stopped breathing. I wanted to breathe, but my body wouldn’t allow any air to enter my lungs. Gray was here. Inside. Right now.
“What’s he doing here?” Wait. There was a bigger question here. “What does Mom know? How long has he been here? What is he doing here?”
“Slow down. Mom doesn’t know anything so you can take a breath.” Peyton peeked in the rear-view mirror, checking on the girls. They were still quiet, engrossed in their movie.
“But, what is he doing here?”
“Go ask him. This isn’t high school. I’m not passing notes between you two.” She pushed a button and doors opened. “Come on, girls. Time to go inside. You can finish this later.” The girls groaned a little at the interruption but did as their mom asked.
I gathered up my bag, wiped my eyes and headed inside. My body warred with itself. Part of me wanted to run inside and throw my arms around his neck. The other part, the scared part, wanted to shuffle my feet and take my time. What would he say? What would I say? I knew I had been hoping for this moment, but I was now looking a gift horse in the mouth. I wanted this, but the thought of doing this with my mother here was . . . I shuddered at the thought.
I walked through the open door, and dread welled up inside me with joy. Gray stood in the dining room, talking to my mom while she prepared lunch. The two rooms were only separated by the kitchen island. The kitchen was my mom’s throne. She’d putter around baking and cooking while the rest of us sat at the dining room table. She was able to enjoy the conversation and be a part of the camaraderie while cooking. My siblings and I knew to stay out of the kitchen while she was working. Apparently, so did Gray. I paused to watch him for a moment before entering the room. He looked relaxed in his assumed stance, holding his coffee cup. He chuckled at something my mom had said. The girls ran up to him for hugs. He squatted down to their level, hugging them and making silly faces. There would be two more broken hearts if I couldn’t fix this.
Gray must’ve sensed my presence because he looked up. Our eyes locked. I searched his eyes and face but didn’t find any anger there. Still, I was rooted in place. He let go of the girls and opened his arms to me. “Well?”
The invite lasted only a moment before I was across the room and hugging him. I held back the tears, knowing my mother would demand to know what was going on. Oh, my mother. Gray had been here for how long? What had he told her? My body stiffened with worry and dread.
“Act natural. We’ll talk later. All is fine,” Gray whispered in my ear. I relaxed against him again. My relief was short-lived when I realized that I now had to spend the day with him and not talk about it. That was its own form of punishment.
I was jumpy like a caged animal all day. I played with the girls to distract myself. I avoided, at all costs, one-on-one conversations with my mom. I tried to look at Peter’s numbers, but couldn’t focus with Gray in the room. The paperwork sat on the dining room table, mocking me.
By contrast, Gray seemed perfectly at ease, which made me even jumpier. He sat at the dining table, sipping coffee and reading the local paper. I guessed he had made a decision as to what he was going to do about our relationship. If I knew what laid ahead, I would be more relaxed, too.
My mother went about her business. She looked the same as when we left. Short, chubby and covered in flour. She loved the role of grandma. She had been waiting her whole life for it. Every so often I caught her watching me from the kitchen, with that knowing look in her eyes. Her mother’s instincts had kicked in. She had picked up on the strained undercurrent. I smiled whenever I saw her looking, as if it would throw her off the scent. Her nose was stronger than a cadaver dog’s, I was a lost cause.
“This baby is killing me.” Peyton emerged from the guest room. She went in to lay down for a while since the kids were occupied and cared for. She settled in at the table, and nudged my papers out of the way.
“I hope it’s twins,” I said. I prayed Peyton had twins with every pregnancy.
“May God strike you down.”
“Peyton Elizabeth! Watch your mouth.” My mom pointed a metal spatula her way, emphasizing her point. I hid my giggle behind my hand, then lowered it to stick my tongue out at her. Since we were kids, my mom had always admonished Peyton for her mouth. My poking and jabbing would slip by, but the minute Peyton said anything in her defense my mother would hear it and jump on her. Peyton took it well. Usually.
“Mom, why don’t you ask Regan how Mexico was? I could’ve sworn we weren’t expecting her until next week. I must be wrong, though.” I squinted my eyes at Peyton, willing lightning bolts to shoot out. “I could’ve sworn she proposed that I pick her up next week from the airport. I must’ve been engaged in conversation with someone else.”
“You are dead to me.” I mouthed the words in her direction.
“I don’t know what you are up to, but if it involves a ring, that ring better be on your finger.”
“Mom.” I rolled my eyes, even though I had promised myself to break that bad habit.
"Well, did he?" Mom asked.
She pointed at me with the spatula again. I knew if I told her the truth she would throw it at me or swat the back of my hand with it. A plastic spatula I could handle, a metal one would go right through my eyeball.
"Of course not." I made eye contact with Peyton. Help me, please! Gray continued to read the paper as if my mother wasn’t talking about him like he wasn’t there. He caught my eye briefly, but I only saw the humor in it.
"Who's padding the PNL's? These numbers are ridiculous." Peyton bent her head over my forgotten paperwork but not before I saw the knowing look in her eyes. I had brought home the more recent Profit and Loss Report to finalize for the pub.
"What? I've only had a chance to quickly glance at those. The numbers looked high to me, but Peter said business had been booming," I got up and headed to the table to see what she was talking about.
Peyton had a degree in Accounting. I studied it for a semester or two in school, but it didn’t take me long to figure out that was not where my passion lied. I moved on to marketing after that. Or Psychology. Or Religious Studies. It didn’t matter since I didn’t finish anyway.
"I've seen a sample PNL like this in school. Somebody is hiding money under your Miscellaneous Sales column, look." Her finger pointed at the Miscellaneous Sales line for the last period. At a glance, a PNL is just a giant sheet of numbers, but if you know how to read the numbers, a PNL can tell you a lot of information about a business. When I used to work for Peter, I studied them religiously. I could see if we were too high in one department, like Labor, or if sales had dropped in any one category from this month to last month, or for a particular month this year versus last. A quick glance could also show a discrepancy, like a missed invoice, or a typo when inputting the numbers.
“Someone’s laundering money,” Peyton said in a sing-song voice.
“Now who’s the drama queen?” I asked.
"Seriously, look at it. Two hundred and twelve thousand dollars? In one month? For miscellaneous sales? Come on.”
“That must be a typo, one too many zeros." I scooped up the papers to put back in my bag.
“I hope it’s just a typo.”
“Why?”
“Because if someone is laundering money, they are doing a poor job of hiding it. Someone has got to be on their trail.” My mom had gone back to cooking and ignoring us, but Gray was sitting up, watching our exchange. He worried the inside of his lip. A habit that emerged when he was deep in thought.
I glanced at the numbers again, laughing before putting them away. Peyton watched too many Lifetime movies. I’d go over the numbers with a fine-tooth comb when I got back to Chicago.