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Edgar had explained himself already, but no matter how many times he told me the story, I would never understand. He had jumped the gun by talking to Byron about my relationship with Chaz, though he’d rightly assumed that it was serious. I guess it boiled down to the fact that Edgar and Byron had been friends from the time Byron had also worked security at the building, and despite Byron’s short-comings, Edgar must have felt some sort of obligation to tell him about me and Chaz.
What Edgar didn’t understand was that Byron talked a good game. He said the right things about getting over the gambling and wanting to be a decent father to those who would listen, but in reality, he didn’t try. He knew that if he admitted the truth—that he’d simply abandoned his daughter—his friends and family would see him as a schmuck.
“Well, you ruined everything,” I said.
“I was only trying to help. Trying to be a good friend.”
“You want to know something? Something that will show you Byron’s true character?” I paused, made sure I had Edgar’s full attention. “I haven’t heard from Byron since that day he showed up at the restaurant. So. There you go.”
“I’m sorry,” Edgar said. “I really am.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. I still liked Edgar, even if I felt I had to keep up the pissed-off act with him a while longer. It was probably best I didn’t get too chummy with him again, because I didn’t want him running back to Byron with any more stories about my love life.
That was one of the reasons I made sure not to wear the ring Lewis had given me to work. And of course, I hadn’t wanted any questions from anyone in the office. Only Carla and Alaina knew about my engagement. I hadn’t even told Debbie.
“You have a good evening,” I said to Edgar. I knew it wasn’t his fault that Chaz had dumped me, but if only he hadn’t told Byron. If I’d been able to broach the subject of Rayna’s father actually being alive in some other way than the dramatic fashion with which it played out, Chaz might still be in my life.
“Yeah, you have a good night, too,” Edgar said, but his voice sounded off, and he was looking beyond my shoulder, not at me. The wary expression on his face had me alarmed.
“What?” I asked, and quickly followed his gaze over my shoulder.
As I did, I gasped, feeling as though I’d been scalded by fire. Byron. Then I spun back around and glared at Edgar. “Did you set me up again?”
“No!” he protested. “He just showed up, I swear!”
I didn’t know what to believe. All I knew was that my heart was suddenly pounding furiously. There was a chance that he wasn’t here to see me, but rather Edgar. That’s what I hoped as I secured my purse strap over my shoulder and started briskly away from the desk.
Byron promptly blocked my path.
I didn’t say anything to him, just moved to the right to try to step past him. He matched my movement, which made it very clear that he was here to see me.
“Get out of my way,” I said. I didn’t care why he was in the lobby of my office building. I had nothing to say to him.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“I don’t want to talk to you.” I was already frustrated and spoke louder than I’d intended. I glanced around surreptitiously to see if any people were staring. No one seemed to care about me and Byron as they headed toward the exit.
For now. If our “conversation” continued, I didn’t doubt we’d end up with an audience. The last thing I wanted was an ugly conflict with a dozen witnesses. So I made a quick step to the left and moved around him, then hustled to the front door.
Byron was on my tail. I could feel him. But I didn’t turn. I breezed through the door behind someone else who was exiting and hurried onto the street.
I took about ten steps before I felt a hand clamp down on my shoulder. Even though I knew it was Byron behind me, I flinched nonetheless.
“Damn it, Vanessa. You will talk to me.”
“What?” I demanded as I whirled around. My chest was heaving, my breathing labored.
“I want to see my daughter.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Yeah, I heard you. But considering you’ve been a deadbeat dad since before Rayna was born, what you’re saying may as well be in Chinese, since it makes no sense to me.”
“I want to see Rayna. Let’s set up a time and meet somewhere you feel comfortable.”
“Like in your bookie’s office, perhaps?” I asked.
“I’m done with the gambling. I already told you.”
“And I’m just supposed to take the word of a liar?” Byron had been around intermittently when I’d been pregnant. One of those times had been when my friends had thrown me a baby shower. He’d gathered the presents and driven me home from my sister’s place—only he hadn’t given me all the gifts I’d received for Rayna. Some ended up missing and—you guessed it—were never seen again.
“A guy can change, Vanessa. I’m ready to be a dad.”
“Not gonna happen,” I said.
“She’s my daughter.”
“No, she’s not.”
“Yes, she is.”
“Maybe biologically, but not in all the ways that matter. And that was your choice, Byron. Not mine.”
“Don’t be a bitch,” Byron snapped. “I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
I laughed sardonically. “Better a bitch than a deadbeat. This conversation is over.”
Turning away from Byron, I started to jog now. I pressed on even as my feet hurt in my shoes. When I was half a block away—and certain that my heels were destroyed—I finally looked over my shoulder.
Byron was nowhere to be seen.
Only then did I stop jogging. Stopped and gulped in air. Not just because I was winded, but because I was panicked. Panicked at the thought that Byron wanted to be part of Rayna’s life.
I leaned my back against the exterior of a building, my stomach suddenly nauseous.
This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. I repeated that line in my mind over and over, as though just by thinking it, I could make what had happened a bad dream rather than an ugly reality.
People gave me odd looks as they passed me, and I finally eased myself up off the wall. My heart was still pounding, and I felt sort of numb.
I made my way to the parking lot where my car was, and as I got behind the wheel, I noticed my hands were shaking.
Was Byron truly feeling paternal? Or was it once again a passing phase? I hadn’t heard from him after that day at the restaurant. Not one peep. Not an apology. Not a request to see Rayna. I guess there were times when the reality that he’d fathered a child hit him in the head like a giant conch shell, and he probably felt a bit of guilt over not being in her life.
But the guilt would pass. It always did.
When I realized I’d been sitting behind the wheel of my car for nearly ten minutes, I started the engine and drove out of the parking lot. I was going to be late for my meeting with Cynthia.
I resolved not to let Byron get to me. It wasn’t the first time in the past two-and-a-half years that he’d had an attack of conscience and had reached out to Rayna by sending a gift. Then months would pass without a word from him or even an e-mail.
I had a far more pressing matter to deal with. Getting to Cynthia Martin and hearing what she’d learned about Tassie Johnson.
8
I didn’t make it to the Barnes & Noble bookstore until five-thirty. I rushed inside, hoping Cynthia wouldn’t be upset at my tardiness. But when I saw her, she was casually standing near the perimeter of the café with a magazine in her hand.
Seeming to sense me, she looked in my direction. Then smiled.
I returned her smile. I never thought I’d be so happy to see Cynthia Martin, not after how some of her reports after Eli’s murder had made me look in the press. But I couldn’t help being giddy with excitement.
As I strode toward her, she replaced the magazine on the rack.
I’d prayed that she would come through for me, give me some kind of ammunition I could use against Tassie, and it looked like my prayers had been answered.
“Hello,” I said as I reached her, and offered her my hand. “It is so good to see you again.”
Cynthia took my hand and shook it firmly. “It’s good to see you.”
“Sorry I’m a bit late. Traffic.”
“No worries,” she said.
I glanced around the café. There were a number of available seats. “You want something to eat or drink before we sit down?” I asked. “A coffee, a sandwich? I’m buying.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I don’t need anything.”
“No, I want to buy you something,” I insisted. “It’s the least I can do.”
“All right, then. I’ll take a latte and a scone.”
I went to order while Cynthia sat at a table where no one was within earshot. A few minutes later, I joined her at the table, setting down two large lattes, her scone and a piece of carrot cake for myself.
After dealing with Byron, I deserved a treat.
I was anxious to ask Cynthia what she’d uncovered. But I decided to let her eat a bit of her scone first while I munched on my carrot cake.
That resolve lasted thirty seconds before I had to speak. “I’m dying here. You said the news is good?”
“Very.” A devious spark lit Cynthia’s eyes.
“How good? Or should I ask—how scandalous?”
Cynthia swallowed a mouthful of coffee before speaking. “Tassie Johnson has been a very bad girl.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning she was far from being a grieving widow.”
My heart was so full of excitement, I thought it might burst. “The guy I saw her with at the funeral. He’s her lover?”
“Ray Carlton,” Cynthia said, nodding. She broke off a morsel of her scone and put it in her mouth.
“I knew it.” I lifted my cup of coffee, but didn’t take a sip. “She had the nerve to talk about Eli being unfaithful while flaunting her lover at her husband’s funeral.”
“It’s worse than you think,” Cynthia said. “Or perhaps I should say better.”
I lowered my coffee cup. “Oh?”
“When I say Tassie Johnson has been a very bad girl, it’s not just because she and Ray are lovers. It’s because of how long they were an item. Long before she and Eli split.”
“How long?”
“Try before she walked down the aisle.”
My eyes narrowed in confusion. “What—like an old boyfriend?”
“Old boyfriends aren’t scandalous. Everyone’s had at least one lover before getting married. I’m guessing the average these days has got to be between ten and twenty other partners, but I don’t have the hard data to support that claim.”
I could care less about the average number of partners a person had before settling down. I moved a hand in a rolling motion to indicate that I wanted Cynthia to continue with the news about Tassie.
Her eyes danced with humor. “But it is scandalous when you marry someone, continue to see your old boyfriend and even have an abortion when you’re still very much living with your husband.”
“Tassie had an abortion!” I couldn’t help exclaiming, then glanced around. A handful of people were suddenly intrigued by my conversation. “Wow, that’s progressive for a soap opera, isn’t it?” I continued loudly, hoping to kill any eavesdroppers’ interest in what I was saying. “I thought people always end up having the baby or miscarrying on those shows. But a real abortion.”
Cynthia edged across the table, and continued speaking in a lower tone. “I’ve got the records to prove it.”
I wanted to jump up and down and scream hallelujah, but I remained seated. Remained calm.
“When?” I asked, keeping my voice down.
“A year and a half after she’d had her first child.”
My excitement fizzled. “Then the baby could have been Eli’s,” I pointed out. “Maybe the timing wasn’t right, and they decided they didn’t want to have another baby.”
“Eh, eh, eh.” Cynthia waved a finger. She was clearly enjoying this, as though she’d always imagined herself being some sort of secret spy. I guess that’s what journalism entailed…to a degree. “It was Ray’s baby.”
“It’ll be my word against hers.”
“But will she be able to explain why her ex-boyfriend took her to the abortion clinic? Why he paid for it with his credit card?”
I gasped, but quickly covered my mouth. “Oh, my God.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So she was having an affair right from the start,” I said quietly. Another revelation hit me. “Do you think she was never in love with Eli? That she married him strictly for his money?”
“If I were a gambling woman, I’d guess exactly that. It doesn’t look like her relationship with Ray has ever waned.”
