Catching Cassidy Page 22

  “Hi,” I say, already feeling like I wish I hadn’t called. I know they’re going to be overly excited, and I’m not sure I want to hear it.

  “Hi, honey. It’s Mom. Dad’s here, too. We got your text. You must be over the moon! Are you making plans? Have you talked to Aunt Aggie about staying with her until you find a place of your own?”

  “Mom, I just got the offer.” I weave through the crowd on the boardwalk and sit on a bench across from the café. “I haven’t even decided if I’m taking it yet.”

  “What? Oh, honey, what else would you do? This is what you’ve worked so hard for. It’s why we spent thousands of dollars on your schooling. You’ll go to New York and make a name for yourself. You’re so smart. You’ll go right up the ranks, and before you know it you’ll be CFO of a large corporation.”

  I watch a group of women and young children walk by and wonder if they’ll pressure their kids and ignore their children while they’re busy living their own lives, like my parents do to me. As if they’ve heard my thoughts, one of the women scoops a young boy into her arms and smothers him with kisses. I long for a relationship I know I’ll never have.

  “Honey?”

  “Sorry, Mom. It’s a junior accountant position, and honestly, I’m not even sure I love accounting anymore.” Or that I ever did, for that matter.

  “Oh, pish posh. Of course you do. You’ve always loved numbers. You’re just spending too much time in that Podunk town, getting all caught up in the world of the unmotivated. I knew you shouldn’t have gone with Wyatt and Delilah for the summer.”

  World of the unmotivated? I bite back the desire to set her straight. She knows Wyatt and Delilah like the ice cream man knows his customers: quick smiles and pleasantries, then she’s off to someplace else. I wish she could have seen Wyatt this afternoon, taking complete control of the situation with Tim, or the other night when the schedules went awry. He may not have ever been a planner, but he has always been motivated as hell. He had to be in order to be so successful in school while also being a great football player and, if I’m honest with myself, having a social life, too. And the way he’s always watched out for me and Delilah also takes motivation and dedication.

  Ugh. It’s not worth explaining, because by the time I get the words out she will have forgotten them.

  “Honey? Are you there? I only have a minute.”

  Of course you do. “I’m here. That’s not it at all, Mom. No one’s unmotivated.”

  “Sure they are, honey. Summertime fun is hard to walk away from. But Harborside is no place for someone like you. You’re better than that.”

  I lower the phone from my ear and close my eyes as she goes on about how smart I am and how she and my father are so proud of me. I want to tell her to get off her high horse and remind her that Harborside is the one place I have always fit in and that there’s nothing to be better than. Our friends here are real, they’re caring, and they’d drop everything to help any of us, not to mention that I love it here. And I’m in love with Wyatt. Thinking of Wyatt makes me want to remind her that both Wyatt and Delilah are now running their father’s bar and grill, which is a huge, important job. But I don’t. I let her go on, and I bite my tongue again, because I know it’s not worth my energy.

  “Besides, once you’re in New York, you’ll see us more often, Cassidy. We go there a lot, and it would be so fun to take you to dinner and to a show.”

  And there it is. The dangling carrot.

  I hate the way my heart swells with hope with her promise of seeing me more and spending time with me. It shouldn’t affect me the way it does. I know it’s an empty promise. Why wouldn’t it be? This is the same person who told me that if I took singing lessons she’d sing in the mother-daughter pageant with me when I was nine and then went off to Las Vegas instead. The same woman who buys me grapefruit oil and lotions when she knows I’m allergic. The same woman who told me that she and my father were going to take me to Japan after my lacrosse playoffs in high school, only to find out that they accidentally booked the wrong date and they had to leave before my playoffs even began. Thankfully, Wyatt’s mother was willing to let me stay with them for the week and take me to playoffs.

  “Wouldn’t that be fun, honey?”

  “Yes,” I admit, because in my head those unattainable dreams of being enough to hold their attention still dance with hope—even though I know they’re not just unattainable dreams. They’re also unworthy of my thoughts. I should save my dreams for people who matter, like me and Wyatt.

  “Then why haven’t you taken that job yet? And don’t tell me that you’re dating someone from that little town and you can’t leave him, because you know this is too big of a decision to base on a summertime fling. You are not one of those weak girls who coordinates her life around some man’s needs.”

  Okay, I won’t tell you. “Mom, I’ve got to get back to work. Thanks for calling.”

  “Okay, honey. Sorry to keep you so long, but take the job. We’ll call Aunt Aggie and arrange for you to stay with her. We’re so proud of you, Cassidy. We always knew you’d take life by the horns.”

  Funny. I feel like I’m being bucked off at every turn.

  After we end the call, I return to the café, and the woman who came in with the teenage girls waves me over.

  “Hi. Are you the girl who helped Naomi plan her beach wedding and took the pictures?” The woman looks to be in her midthirties, with short blond hair, big brown eyes, and a round, friendly face.

  I point to Brooke. “Actually, Brooke planned the wedding. I just helped and took pictures.”

  “That’s not what Sarah said,” one of the teenagers says. “Sarah said that Brooke planned it first, then everything fell apart and you took over.”

  I glance back at Brooke, careful not to take credit for all of her hard work. “Well, I think your friend is mistaken. Brooke planned it all, top to bottom. All I did was help with some incidentals. Brooke is amazing if you’re looking for a party planner.”

  “She is amazing at party planning. You’re absolutely right,” the woman says as she waves to Brooke. “I love Brooke. My sister wants to have a beach wedding and she loved the pictures from Naomi’s wedding. I was wondering if we could put you in touch with her.”

  She loved the pictures!

  For a few seconds my heart races with excitement, but when I open my mouth to tell her yes, I remember that if I take the job in New York, I won’t be here anymore. My stomach sinks at the thought of sitting behind a desk pushing numbers all day when I could be doing all the things I love in a place I love, with Wyatt and friends I adore. I’m trying so hard not to put Wyatt into my decision-making equation. I love him so much I know I want to be with him, but as my parents pointed out, this decision is too big to make based on a relationship.

  “I’m not sure if I’ll be here or not for much longer, so why don’t you put her in touch with Brooke. If I’m around, I’ll work with her to coordinate your sister’s function.” Before she can tell me no, I wave Brooke over and leave her to discuss the event.

  As I’m making their sandwiches, Brooke sidles up to me and turns her back so the customers can’t hear her.

  “You know, I just helped Naomi on a whim, but I think we could make a go of this.” Brooke fills a pitcher with soda.

  I finish making the sandwiches and force a smile through my indecision.

  “We should talk about it,” she urges.

  I escape to deliver the sandwiches and get pulled over to another group of customers. By the time we have a break, my stomach is tied in knots. I have no idea what to do about the job, and I’m worried about Wyatt and Tim. Brooke and I sit at a table and she starts making a list.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Well, I thought we should give a party-planning business some serious consideration. I’m writing down what I did to coordinate Naomi’s wedding.” She stops writing and looks at me. “You’d be our resident photog, of course.”

  “Br
ooke, you know I might not be here long-term, right?” Even though I don’t want to mislead her, I can’t hold in my excitement over the prospect. “But, oh my gosh, Brooke, do you know how fun that would be? Party planning and taking pictures?”

  “Why?” She continues writing, and I have a feeling she’s avoiding eye contact on purpose.

  “Because of the job in New York.” Brooke knows about my offer, and she knows I haven’t made a decision, but I am considering taking it. I told her when I first got into work today. “Don’t pretend that I didn’t tell you about it.”

  She still doesn’t look at me.

  “Brooke?”

  “I’m not pretending.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  She sets down her pen and finally looks at me. “Well, you told me about the offer, but you also told me about you and Wyatt, so…”

  “So?” I shrug like it’s no big deal, when even hearing his name sets my mind reeling back to how good it felt to be in his arms.

  “So…you’re not going to leave Wyatt, are you?” She leans across the table. “I thought you really liked him.”

  My feelings burst free without any thought. “I do. I love him. I love him from his toes to the tippy-top of his head and every delicious spot in between.” My body shivers with the memory of making love to him.

  Brooke’s eyes widen. “Wow, then you’re really not leaving.”

  “Brooke, you of all people should know that I can’t make such an important decision based on a guy. Not even on Wyatt.” Brooke had followed a boyfriend to another state. A handful of lies and one broken heart later, she returned to Harborside and set down roots.

  She sighs. “Just because my relationship didn’t work out doesn’t mean yours won’t. Wyatt’s a great guy, and you two have been close forever.”

  “I know that, and I’m not even sure I want the job in New York, but so much has happened these last few days that I need time to process it all. I can’t just make a snap decision. I love what I’m doing here with you, and the idea of doing more of it and having time for photography is so exciting. But there are risks associated with staying here and turning down the job, too.” My own words come back to me. That’s what life is, Wyatt. One fucking risk after another.

  “What does Wyatt want you to do?”

  The bell above the door rings, and a group of teenagers come into the café before I can answer. I’m relieved, because I know that despite what Wyatt says, he wants me to stay as much as I want to.

  “I’ll take them.” As I stand, Brooke grabs my arm and looks up at me.

  “Wyatt’s a good guy, Cassidy. And I’m pretty sure we can make a party-planning business work hand in hand with the café. I know it’s not a posh career, but will you at least think about it?”

  “Wyatt’s better than a good guy, and I have a feeling this is all I’ll be thinking about for the next week.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ~Wyatt~

  THE ADDRESS IN Tim’s personnel file leads me to an apartment complex at the edge of town. I’m surprised that Tim would move to such a shabby-looking place. Not that there are bad neighborhoods in Harborside, but the complex looks run-down. There’s no real landscaping, save for a few scraggly bushes, and the cars in the lot are mostly older and beat-up models. I’ve been to the house where Tim lived with his wife a dozen times with my parents. It was a beautiful house at the north end of town. I can’t begin to imagine him living in this run-down area, but then again, I never imagined that Tim might do something like embezzle money from our family business.

  Fuck. It doesn’t even feel right to think about Tim doing this shit.

  I pull around to his building and recognize his car in the parking lot. I head up to his apartment, talking myself out of being nervous. It’s not every day I have to ask a family friend and employee if he’s stealing from my family. I know my father’s looking down on me, and I can’t help but hope that Cassidy and I didn’t miss something and misinterpret the entire situation.

  The Harborside Apartments have sidelight windows by the doors, and after knocking several times, I peer inside. It’s hard to make out much more than the entryway, where I see his keys on a table, and I realize the muffled noise I hear is coming from inside his apartment. It sounds like a television. I’m trying not to think about Cassidy’s job offer, which has made my gut feel like lead ever since she got the call. Standing here, waiting for Tim to answer the door, brings it to the forefront of my mind. I’m getting more anxious by the second about Cass possibly leaving and about confronting Tim, and when I bang on the door again, my anxiety turns to anger.

  “I know you’re in there, Tim. You might as well open the door.” I pound on the door again.

  I pace the hallway, run my hand through my hair in frustration, and kick the floor. I didn’t ask for this shit. I didn’t ask for the bar, or the headaches, or the accounting nightmare with Tim Johnson.

  As I head for the stairs, ready to leave Tim and his thievery behind, Tim’s door swings open. He leaves it open and staggers back into the apartment. I follow him through the entryway to the small, messy living room, where he tumbles down to the couch. Tim’s hair looks like it hasn’t been washed in days. His clothes are rumpled, as if he’d slept in them, and his living room is littered with beer cans and pizza boxes.

  Tim waves to the chair across from him, but I’m too frustrated to sit. I cross my arms and stare at him, biting back the urge to let him have it. He’s supposed to be at work, not drinking like a college kid on a binge.

  “Go ahead. Say it.” Tim rests his head against the back of the couch and closes his eyes. “Tell me how I should know better. How I let your father down. How I fucked up everything good I’ve ever had in my life.”

  My father. I don’t know if it’s the way Tim referenced him, as if the words your father were curses, or the fact that I’m looking at a guy my father trusted with his business and Tim’s disrespecting him as if he didn’t matter. But something inside me snaps, and for the first time since my parents died, I realize the magnitude of my responsibilities and I don’t feel them as a burden but as an honor. I stifle my anger, shove my fisting hands into my pockets, and think about how my even-tempered father would have handled this situation. After a minute of contemplation, I know it doesn’t matter what my father would have done.

  I’m not him.

  I sink into a chair with the realization and lean my elbows on my knees. I’ll never be Ed Armstrong. I’ll never be as conservative or as even-keeled as he was. But I’ll also never be a man who makes his daughter feel like who she is isn’t good enough. I repress that thought because that’s not something I can deal with on top of all of this. My mind shifts to the ways my father and I were similar. He was a provider, a caretaker. A leader. I’m all those things, and I’m proud of them. Although my father’s love came with strict expectations, many of which I didn’t believe in, I know he loved me and Dee, and I know my father loved and trusted Tim as if he were family, too. Hell, we all did.

  I look at the disheveled man across the room and want to understand what went terribly wrong with him to end up like this.

  “You tell me what’s going on, Tim. Then I’ll figure out if I need to tell you you’ve fucked up your whole life, because the only thing I know right now is that my father worked his ass off for years to build the Taproom into the best damn bar and grill in Harborside, and someone’s siphoning money out of it.”

  Tim sits up and meets my stare.

  “Start talking before I lose my patience.” I watch his eyes narrow and his lips press into a thin line. He opens his mouth to speak but remains silent. I wait him out, losing my patience by the second.

  I rise and pace, trying to keep it together as thoughts of my father race through my mind. He was big on giving people second chances—everyone except me and Delilah, that is. He expected us to always make top grades and prepare for the future.

  The future.

  I stop paci
ng with the weight of those words. The future is now. It’s no longer a fictitious time years away. It’s my here and now, and I’m not going to walk away from what my father built or let some guy steal my father’s money. Not even the man I know as Uncle Tim.

  I turn my attention back to Tim, who’s sitting with his face buried in his hands.

  “I’m going to ask you once and only once. Did you embezzle nearly twenty thousand dollars from the Taproom?”

  Tim lowers his hands but doesn’t meet my gaze.

  “Tim?”

  “I’m trying to figure out how to answer you. The short answer is yes, but the long answer…” He exhales and rubs his jaw. “I think you should sit down for the long answer.”

  “I think I’ll stand.” I’m too edgy to sit. My hands curl into fists as I process his admission. He stole money from my father’s business, and it sets off a reaction akin to the way I felt when I saw that guy forcing himself on Cassidy. My blood boils, my hands fist, and I clench my teeth so hard it hurts. I can’t settle this with a fight, and I don’t want to. I know now that the beating I gave Kyle was driven by my feelings for Cassidy, and the fighting I did recently was driven by my feelings for Cassidy and on the heels of the death of my parents. Fighting isn’t my go-to way to handle situations, and I know it won’t be in the future, either. This is the real world, and I feel like I’m on the precipice of major change. This is my world now. My future. Delilah’s future. This is our here and now, and we have to handle it like adults, not angry college kids.

  Tim exhales loudly again and reaches for a beer on the coffee table.

  “Don’t.” I pin him to the couch with a dark stare. “From the looks of things, you’re already messed up enough. You don’t need that shit.”

  The side of his mouth lifts to a smile. “When did you grow up?”

  “When some fucker killed my parents. Start explaining. I’ve got a business to run.” My father’s business. The bar might not be a multimillion-dollar company, but it’s my father’s legacy, and right here, in the middle of Tim’s pigsty of a living room, I vow to keep it going.