I DIDN’T ANSWER OR RETURN BRAD’S PHONE CALLS. NOT the first one, nor the third, nor the fifth.
“Kat,” he said on his last message, “I can’t leave the office until Stan gets here so we can go over things. Please call me when you get this message. I’ll come home just as soon as I can get away. And if you caught that report on Channel 5, don’t believe it. Trust me. I . . . I . . .”A long pause, then, “Please call me.”
But I didn’t call him. I needed to be able to look into his eyes when we talked about Nicole’s claims. When I finally felt ready, I drove to the office, arriving during the lunch hour. One look at the receptionist’s face, and I knew everyone at In Step had either seen or heard about Ms. St. James’s report.
“Is Brad in?”
The receptionist—her name escaped me—nodded. “Stan Ludwig’s with him.”
Stan had served as In Step’s attorney since its inception. Brad and I respected and trusted him, and he and his wife were among our closest friends. It made me feel a little better, knowing he was here and involved.
“I’ll go on back,” I said to the girl at the front desk.“No need to announce me.”
I walked toward Brad’s office, head high, shoulders straight. I didn’t want anyone to think I’d been shaken by Nicole’s assertions. Fortunately for me and my acting skills, most of the employees were out to lunch.
I paused at Brad’s office door, rapped twice, then opened it. The two men turned to see who it was.
Brad stood as I entered. “Kat. I didn’t expect you to come down.”
“I thought I should.”
“You saw the news?”
I nodded.
He came toward me. “I would’ve come home if I could.”
“It’s all right.”
“It isn’t true, Kat. What Nicole said isn’t true.”
I nodded again.
He studied me for a long while, eyes grave, then motioned toward our attorney. “Stan was about to explain what to expect next.”
“Hi, Stan,” I whispered, finally acknowledging him.
“Katherine. Sorry this is happening to you both.”
I blinked back tears. I didn’t want to start sobbing. Now was the time to be strong.
Brad took my arm and ushered me to the chair next to Stan.
Stan said, “I told Brad it would be best if neither of you spoke to the press until this matter with the AG is settled.”
“Don’t worry,” Brad answered as he returned to his chair behind the desk. “We won’t.”
“Refer all inquiries to me.”
I had no problem with his instructions. There was no way I wanted to face another reporter. Not for the rest of my life.
“So what happens next?” Brad asked. “With the attorney general.”
“If the complaint doesn’t include reliable evidence of a diversion of assets or gross mismanagement, the AG’s review may end without further investigation. However, if they feel there is some reliable evidence, they’ll conduct a full investigation, inspecting all documents and records in order to prove or disprove mismanagement.”
“What would they look for?”
“Illegal use of charitable funds, diversion of donations from their intended purpose, excessive amounts paid for salaries, benefits, travel, and entertainment. That sort of thing.”
Brad released a breath. “Then we should be all right. They won’t find anything like that here. We’ve always had excellent bookkeepers—”He stopped, his face gone pale.“Nicole supervised the bookkeeper. Do you suppose she might have altered anything in our books before she resigned?”
“There’s that possibility,” Stan answered, “but it’s unlikely. The foundation’s books are audited every June by an independent firm. If anything was amiss, they would have found it.”
I took a measure of comfort from his confident tone, even knowing that all attorneys must try to sound equally as confident with their clients.
“Why not ask your bookkeeper and CPA to go through the records for the last few years? Maybe back about five. They can look for anything unusual. That way you’ll be ahead of the game if the AG proceeds with a formal investigation.” Stan reached for his briefcase on the floor beside him and stood. “Don’t let this worry you. It will be straightened out in due course.”He gave my shoulder a light pat. “I mean it, Katherine. Don’t worry.”
I nodded without looking up.
Brad walked with Stan to the door. They exchanged a few more words, too soft for me to know what they said. Then Stan left. Brad closed the door behind him.
“It’ll be okay, Katherine.”
“Will it?”
“Stan’s right. Our books are in good shape. If not, the auditors would have told us there was a problem. It might be an inconvenience if the AG conducts an investigation, but that’s all.”
I lifted my gaze to meet his. “Ms. St. James doesn’t seem to think everything’s in order.”
“Ms. St. James is misinformed.”
I didn’t want to ask the question that burned in my chest, but how could I not? “What about Nicole? She said—”
“She’s lying!” His words were loud and sharp.
I stared at him.
He raked the fingers of his right hand through his hair as he pivoted away from me, muttering something I couldn’t make out. A curse? Surely not.
“I’m sorry, Kat.”He moved to stand at the window, looking down at the street six stories below. “I don’t know what more I can say. The truth is the truth.”
When a man and woman have been together as long as we have, they experience ebbs and flows in their relationship, including in the bedroom. Brad and I were no different. There had been times, especially when the girls were babies and sleep came at a premium, when our love life was somewhat less than passionate or romantic. There had been other periods when we were as desirous of one another as newlyweds.
These last few months had been like the latter. Brad’s expressions of love had made me feel as if I were twenty again, lithe and beautiful. He’d even memorized verses from the Song of Songs to whisper to me as we lay in bed.
“What a lovely filly you are, my beloved one . . . How beautiful you are, my beloved, how beautiful! Your eyes are soft like doves.”
Unbidden, the thought came to me: had he whispered similar words in Nicole’s ear while she lay in his arms? I shuddered, willing the traitorous thought away. I would not allow such poison to enter my mind.
Brad turned from the window. With his eyes, he begged me to believe him. I did. Mostly. No, completely. Of course, completely. He’d said Nicole was lying, and I trusted him.
I stood. “I’d better go home. I . . . I need to call Annabeth and cancel the Bible study for tonight.”
“Do you think you should? You almost never cancel.”
“I have to watch that news program. I need to know what she says, and I can’t do that with the ladies there.”
“Whatever she says, it’ll be a lie. She was angry when she quit. She’s trying to cause trouble.”
Why would anyone do this, no matter how angry she is? It makes no sense. None of it.
“Kat.” He walked toward me. “Are we okay?”
I don’t know. Are we? Tell me, Brad. Tell me we’re okay.
He drew me into his embrace, holding my head against his chest with one hand, his other hand rubbing my back. I could hear his heartbeat. Bah-bum . . . bah-bum . . . bah-bum . . .
“Stan told us not to worry,” he said softly.
“I know.”
“So let’s not worry.”
“I’m trying.”
He kissed the crown of my head. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”
We’d come through other storms of life together. Like the time we broke up about a month after Brad proposed. Like the several health scares we’d had when Hayley was little or those terrible times with Emma when she was in her teens. But we’d made it through, all of us. God had been faithful. I had to believe we would come through this too.
I did try not to worry after I returned home, but I failed. Abysmally. I felt brittle, ready to shatter at the slightest provocation. I sat in the family room, television on, ignoring the phone when it rang, dreading the approach of seven o’clock.Time seemed both to crawl and to rush by at the same time.
It was midafternoon when Susan arrived on my doorstep. “Why aren’t you at work?” I asked—not the most gracious of greetings.
“I came to see a friend in need. I’ll bet you’re sitting around waiting for that show to start. Girlfriend, you need to get out of the house. Grab your purse.We’re going out.”
“Oh, Susan. I don’t want—”
“I don’t care what you want. You’re doing what I say.” She stepped inside, her eyes staring past me. “Is Brad here?”
“No. He’s at the office.”
“What about your Bible study? Is it still on for the night?”
I shook my head. “I cancelled it.”
“Just as well.” She flicked her fingertips in my direction. “Get a move on.”
With a sigh, I went upstairs, where I brushed my hair, added a golden-hued eye shadow to my lids, freshened my mascara and lipstick, and finished with a spritz of cologne.
“Where are we going?” I asked when I returned to the entry.
“I feel like something to eat. Do you want to choose?”
“No. I don’t care where we go. I’m not hungry.”
I led the way outside, handing Susan the keys so she could lock the door behind us. Soon enough, we were in the car and on our way.
“How about the Cheesecake Factory?” Susan asked as we neared the mall. “We can have some sinfully wonderful dessert to spoil our dinners. I recommend lots of chocolate.”
“Chocolate isn’t the answer for every problem.”
“Maybe not, but it’s a good place to start.”
I released another deep sigh.
“Maybe you should skip watching that news report tonight. It’ll only upset you more.”
“I can’t skip it. I need to know what she has to say about Brad.”
Susan pulled into the mall parking lot. She didn’t say another word until she parked the car not far from the main mall entrance. “Listen. I’m probably not the best person to give advice on this particular topic. I haven’t had much success when it comes to marriage. And besides, I’m never surprised when a man strays. I guess I’m more surprised when they don’t. But if any man is capable of walking the straight and narrow, it’s gotta be Brad Clarkson. Don’t believe the worst until you know it’s true—even if that’s what you’ve seen me do.”
My chest lightened. “You think he’s innocent?”
“Look, I can’t say anything for sure. I don’t know Nicole. I only met her at that party you gave last fall. But some women don’t care if a man’s married, and she strikes me as that type. If she came on to Brad . . .” She shrugged. “Well, who knows? But I wouldn’t jump to believe her first thing. She’s obviously no paragon of virtue, and that’s by her own admission.”
Susan and I were different in many ways. I’d been married to the same man for nearly twenty-five years; she was twice divorced. I had two daughters with a couple of grandchildren on the way; she’d never conceived. I was a Christian; Susan trusted only in herself, with a dash of positive thinking and universal good thrown in. I liked to keep things serene; she enjoyed a good argument every now and again. I was a conservative, and she was a liberal. Most of the time, I was right and she was wrong. At least, that’s what I liked to tell her.
More than anything, I wanted her to be right this time.