Robyn Carr - The Life She Wants

“Under Emma Shay?”

“And Emma Shay Compton, Emma Compton, Emma Catherine Shay.”

“Dear God,” he groaned. “I hope it dwindles away quickly,” he said.

“It’s all on the record. Anyone who’s curious is welcome to read all about it. There are even a couple of books, though they’re not very accurate.”

“How’d he do it, Em?”

She knew exactly what he was talking about. Richard’s suicide. She took a breath. She was surprised he hadn’t just looked it up—it was splattered, like Richard’s brains, across all the papers and internet news sites.

“After he’d attempted to run via a colleague’s private jet with a fake passport, he was returned to jail and held without bond. The lawyers managed to negotiate house arrest with an ankle bracelet. After the guilty verdict was returned he tried to negotiate sentencing by giving up offshore account numbers, hoping to reduce his sentence. But no matter what, he was going to jail for a long time. He opened the hidden safe behind the bookcase in his home office, pulled out his loaded Glock and shot himself. In the head.”

Lyle shook his head. “He didn’t want to go to prison...”

“I’m sure it was more than that,” she said. “Oh, there was no doubt prison would be horrendous, but that’s not why he did it. There was no material wealth left. There were no more offshore or Swiss accounts. It was really over. He was going to go to prison for fifty years and even if he was paroled early or could escape, there was nothing to allow him to retire quietly in Aruba, or some other remote island. With his stash.” She sighed. “It was the most important thing to him. The wealth.”

“I’m surprised the police didn’t know about the safe or the gun,” he said. “Didn’t you say they searched the apartment?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know if they ever saw it—they weren’t looking for it. They confiscated his computers and lots of files from home and his office, all his electronics, but their warrant wasn’t for things like guns or drugs. I didn’t know about the gun.”

“Did he do anything at all to try to protect you?” Lyle asked.

She just shook her head.

“And after he was buried?”

“It was a couple of weeks yet until everything was gone and the paperwork on the auction and the sale of the apartment was final. I closed his office door and slept on a cot in the kitchen. It was the safest place for me. Marshals were watching the apartment and there was a doorman.” She made a face. “It was so horrible.”

“I’m only going to say this one more time, Emmie, then we’re moving on. I’m just so, so sorry.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Listen, you go home. And tell Ethan that I appreciate how decent he’s been and assure him I’m not going to be pestering the two of you. I found I do very well on my own. It’s lovely to be near you, but you don’t have to worry that this out-of-place girlfriend is going to be the needy type and make you feel invaded. I’m not going to be your third wheel.”

“We have some very nice friends, a lot of them gay men, and there are more than enough third wheels in our crowd. Don’t worry about it. Call us whenever you feel like it.”

“You’ve been wonderful. You’ve always been a better friend to me than I’ve been to you,” she said.

“Not true. There’ve been very kind gestures here and there...”

“Shhhh,” she warned. Before the trouble began, she had a household budget that was ridiculously large and she economized, leaving her a nice balance. It was her money and she used some to help fund the start-up of Hello, Gorgeous. Best if no one ever knew. Lyle had been interviewed about their relationship, possibly even investigated, but had never been any kind of suspect. In fact, they didn’t speak of it. Emma was fairly sure Ethan didn’t even know the details.

“Suffice it to say, I’m glad you’re here,” Lyle said. “I’ve missed you. And now there are a couple of things I should tell you. People have asked about you, which of course they would. But a couple of old friends have asked a few times recently. Asked what you would do now. Riley came into the shop and asked if you were all right. She knows we’ve always been in touch, just as you know I keep up with her, but where you two are concerned I made it a policy to never carry tales between you. She wanted to know if there was anything you needed.”

“Guilty conscience,” Emma said.

“Easy, Emma. She might be one of the few people who can actually understand what you’re going through,” he said. “I know you’re not sympathetic, but she had to rebuild her life after you left. And Jock called. Divorced and living in Santa Rosa. He wanted to know if there was any chance you’d be coming back this way when it was all over. He said to tell you that if you need anything...”

“Seriously?” she asked.

“Very sincerely. I’m not his biggest fan, but he did offer support.”

She said nothing. Of course she knew they were both here, Riley and Jock. Back when they were all so young, her best friend and her boyfriend. She’d returned for brief visits a few times after leaving so long ago and had not spoken to them, but she always knew they were still around. When she decided to come back here for good she knew it was possible she’d run into one or both of them eventually.

“Might be time to move on from that haunt, Emma,” Lyle said.

“I have moved on,” she answered. “I’ve moved on from a lot of things. And I’m not going back one step.”

Chapter Two

When Emma Catherine Shay was nine years old, a fourth grader at St. Pascal’s elementary school in Santa Rosa, a couple of new kids came to school. Riley and Adam Kerrigan. Riley was in Emma’s class and the teacher asked her to be responsible for helping Riley get acquainted and adjusted.

Emma, known for being friendly and a child who wished to please, was annoyed. First of all, she already had two best friends—Susanna and Paula—and Riley’s hanging around was interfering with her routine. Second, Riley apparently couldn’t talk. She followed along or sat at the lunch table all quiet and nervous. When she did speak, she could barely be heard. Third, and Emma knew this was wrong, but the girl was a rag doll. She wore old clothes that didn’t even fit her right.

Riley’s older brother, Adam, so somber and quiet, waited after school to walk home together so at least Emma didn’t have that chore. And all of it—spending time with Riley—was monotonous. But, so Sister Judith would be proud of her, Emma did the best she could with the odd little creature with the unhappy personality. At the end of the second day Riley surprised Emma when she spoke softly. “I know where to go and what to do now. You can go be with your friends.”

Emma felt like a turd. “We’ll just all hang out together,” she said, hating her overzealous conscience.

Then, over the next few days, Emma learned that Riley, Adam and their mother came to Santa Rosa to live with Riley’s grandparents in their tiny house because Riley’s dad had gotten very sick and died. So now Riley wasn’t just shy and poor, she was also bereaved. Emma was stuck with her.

But Emma couldn’t deny that she was completely sympathetic—she’d lost her own mother, though she had been too young to remember her. Her father had remarried when she was just a toddler, probably largely to have help with his child. He had married Rosemary, an efficient and hardworking widow with a three-year-old daughter, Anna. Three years later they had a baby together, another girl. Baby Lauren. The only mother she had ever known was her stepmother, and of the three children, Rosemary liked Emma least. Emma understood by the time she was ten that it had been a marriage of convenience.