The initial burst of temper had already bled away, leaving only a grief so deep Norah thought she’d drown. She didn’t dare go find Miranda or Aunt Liz to say she was back. She was too stunned, too raw from Cam’s accusations to face anyone from the family. Their well-intentioned concern or advice would break her. She wanted a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and a dark room in which to wallow, but that meant stopping at McSweeney’s Market and guaranteed running into someone she knew. Not knowing what else to do, she simply drove.
He hadn’t fought for her. In the face of his misconceptions, he hadn’t questioned, hadn’t confronted, hadn’t argued. He’d accepted as fact. And he’d let her go. Just like that.
She’d given up her whole world for him.
She found herself at Cam’s place before she realized. So ironic that she instinctively came here for solace when he was the one who’d just broken her reality. On autopilot, she climbed the stairs and let herself inside. God, the place smelled like him. Standing in the center of the loft, she waited to feel Cam’s rejection echoed through his space, but the apartment was much as she’d left it. He hadn’t moved her piles of research. The throw she favored was still draped over the chair. She’d half expected to find her things in a box.
He’d be home in a few hours. A part of her wanted to wait for him, confront him with the truth and set the record straight. But what if this was just an excuse? What if, in her absence, he’d realized he’d been caught up in the rush and he didn’t really want her? Certainly grabbing on to this idea that she was the one at fault would be easier than admitting to his family that he’d changed his mind.
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t face another round of rejection from him after everything else she’d been through.
Hands shaking, Norah gathered her stuff. If she was wrong—and oh dear God, she prayed she was wrong—maybe this would be the wake up call he needed. If she wasn’t… Then at least she wouldn’t have to come back here to face him.
The bag barely fit in the back seat amid the pile of other stuff she’d packed to bring down here. What she’d intended to be the first phase of moving to Wishful for good. Something else she couldn’t think about right now.
She needed distraction. Work was the panacea for all ills. Work was her savior. So she called Molly.
“I didn’t know you were back!”
“Only just. I wanted to see if you were free to catch me up on what the coalition has done about the petition.”
“Certainly, but I thought you’d be with Cam.”
So did I. “I’ve seen him. We agreed that this takes priority.”
“Okay then, come on over. I just put a pound cake in the oven.”
The two story ranch was a little worn around the edges. The landscaping needed some upkeep and the siding could use a fresh coat of paint. But everywhere around the house, Norah saw signs of family and permanence. A row of rocking chairs with names painted across the top. Hand-made wind chimes hanging from the eaves. A tree house in the branches of a big sycamore.
Molly opened the door with a broad smile. “Come in, come in. Welcome back.”
“Thanks.” Norah followed her inside, only dimly aware of the other woman’s friendly chatter as she noted the long hallway full of family pictures. Birthdays. Christmases. Sports teams. Dance recitals. Family vacations. The Montgomerys had been here a long time, raised four children, and the place felt full of love and comfort. The kind of home she’d been too afraid to admit dreaming of.
“—told Babette that we really had to work on—” Molly swung around as they entered the living room and stopped. “Norah, honey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.” Why did her voice sound so choked?
“Sweetheart, you’re crying.”
Mortified, Norah lifted a hand to swipe at her cheeks. “Damn it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” A hiccuping sob rolled up her throat. Shaking, she clapped a hand over her mouth, struggling to find some semblance of control. But that only made her quake harder. Damn Cam. Damn him for robbing her of this, too.
Molly took her free hand and tugged her down on the sectional. Without batting an eye, she wrapped both arms around Norah. “Go on and let it out, baby. You’ll feel better for it.”
Too exhausted to keep fighting, she pressed her face to Molly’s shoulder and wept. The older woman said nothing, just stroked her back and rocked, while all the stress and strain and heartache poured out, leaving her exhausted and hollow. Even when the tears stopped, Norah stayed put for a few minutes and let herself be soothed.
Then reality intruded again and the embarrassment returned. She’d just completely lost it with this woman who barely knew her outside a professional context. What was the correct response here?
She lifted her head. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” Molly said it matter-of-factly, as if people fell apart on her all the time. There was no censure, no pity in her eyes, just a kindness and understanding that left Norah feeling out of balance in an entirely different way.
She scrubbed both hands over her face in a vain effort to erase the damage. “I am…not a crier. My family doesn’t encourage that kind of loss of control.”
“Sometimes you just need a good purge.” Molly handed over a box of tissues. “How long’s it been?”
The last time she hadn’t been able to choke it down or channel it somewhere else? Well that would be when Cam obliterated her defenses by clearing her name. Before that…“High school, maybe.”
“Then I’d say you were long overdue.” She patted Norah’s hand. “The powder room is just off the hall there. Go wash your face, then come into the kitchen. I’ll fix you a cup of tea and we’ll have cake. It should be coming out of the oven soon.”
Well, if Molly wasn’t going to be embarrassed about this, neither would she. Head aching, Norah obediently followed her orders. She deliberately avoided looking in the mirror above the pedestal sink, not wanting to see the damage her crying jag had wrought. On top of all the strain she’d been under the last couple of weeks, she knew it wasn’t pretty. The cool water felt wonderful against her puffy cheeks as she rinsed off whatever remained of her makeup. Despite the headache, she felt steadier than when she’d arrived.
Molly didn’t turn as Norah came into the kitchen and sat at the island. As she bustled around the room, putting on the kettle and pulling out mugs, Molly said, “You are absolutely not obligated to tell me what that was about. But if you want an ear, you’ve got mine.”
“Thank you.” Norah tried to remember the last time her own mother had taken the time to listen and comfort. “Normally, I’d talk to Miranda.”
“Hard to do that when she’s related to the problem.”
Norah started to speak, then closed her mouth.
Molly looked faintly amused. “You’ve been away for two weeks and you’re here instead of there. I’m assuming Cam is at least a contributing factor.” She set a cup of tea and a couple of aspirin on the counter.
“You could say that.” Norah wrapped her hands around the mug, absorbed the warmth. “It’s been a really lousy couple of weeks.”
“First rough patch with the two of you?”
Norah scowled. “It’s not just that, but yeah. He’s being an idiot.”
Molly smiled. “Oh, men are good at that. I should know. I raised three. And they’re usually convinced they’re right.” As the buzzer went off, she turned to take her cake out of the oven.
“He’s definitely not.”
“Did you tell him that?”
Norah sipped the tea, while Molly puttered with the bundt pan and cake rack. “Didn’t get a chance.” He’d been too busy acting like they’d already had the fight and it was done and this was how things were going to be. And that was so very strange.
After everything he’d gone through to get past her defenses so she’d give their relationship a legitimate try, every gesture, big and small, that proved he cared, why on God’s green earth would he come all the way to Chicago and not confront her over what he’d heard?
“There’s very little more annoying than being deprived of a good fight.”
“Seriously?”
“Sure. I mean, you wouldn’t want to fight all the time—that’s not healthy—but sometimes it’s the same as having a good cry. You need to clear the air, get out whatever’s festering.”
Had she ever heard her parents fight? Norah didn’t think so. They’d always had a completely civil relationship.
“In my family, fighting falls under the same heading as crying: Things Burkes do not do. Arguments are very calm, rational affairs. And, you know what? You’re right. They aren’t satisfying at all.”
“Nobody ever had great make up sex after a civil debate.”
Norah’s eyes popped wide and she burst out laughing. “That’s probably true.”
“I’ve got nearly forty years of marriage to back me up.” Molly slid plates of cake in front of each of them and sat. “If somebody’s not worth fighting with from time to time, the relationship probably isn’t worth fighting for.”
“Which is why you have nearly forty years of marriage and my parents crashed and burned after twelve.”
“Relationships are all about balance. Wants. Needs. Family. Career. Everybody has a struggle figuring out what their tipping point is. We were lucky that we stumbled on ours early on. Juggling four kids and a full-time job wouldn’t have been possible without that.”
“Four kids and a full-time job?” Norah goggled at her. “My parents couldn’t seem to even manage just me and their careers. They could independently save the world, or they could do the family thing. Not both.”
“Well, it helped that the career was already established and that we bypassed the baby stage. We adopted all four. But I guess the real clincher is having a true partner. My John was a real trooper. He passed a little over a year ago.”
“I’m so sorry.” Norah laid a hand over Molly’s and squeezed.
“Thank you, honey. I miss him every day. But we found each other early—childhood sweethearts—so I consider myself blessed.”
Norah sighed. “I want to be you when I grow up.”
Molly’s cheeks pinked. “Coming from a bright, capable young woman like yourself, I take that as a huge compliment.”
“I can’t think of any better role model.”
Norah almost toppled off her bar stool as Liam seemed to materialize from thin air and crossed over to the cake.
“He has a sixth sense for baked goods.”
As he cut himself a huge slab, Norah wondered if she’d managed to wash away all traces of the tears. Maybe he’d politely ignore the fact that she’d been crying.
No such luck. Turning around with his plate, Liam kicked back against the counter and studied her. “Whatever he did, if he needs an attitude adjustment, I’m happy to give one.”
Norah offered a wry smile.“I’m sure Mitch would help.”
“Oh, Mitch is a good one in a fight, but for this you want Randa Panda. She fights dirty.”
“You know she absolutely loathes that you call her that, right?”
Liam grinned. “Yeah. That’s part of the fun.”
Norah straightened her shoulders. “If anybody’s giving Cam an ass kicking, it’ll be me.”
He laughed. “I knew I liked you.” Walking over, he kissed his mother on the cheek. “Great cake, Mom.” Then he and his cake were gone with the same soundless grace with which he’d appeared.
“A man of few words.”
“Not always. But when there’s cake involved, he’s very focused.” Molly picked up her own tea. “So, is Cam worth the fight?”
Norah didn’t even have to think about it. “More than anybody I’ve ever known.”
Molly gave a satisfied nod. “Good. Do you want to go kick his ass now or do you still want to go over the coalition stuff?”
“Coalition stuff. He’s still at work and what I have to say to him is going to take a while.”
She nibbled cake and listened to Molly outline the efforts they’d made so far. Approximately three hundred fifty signatures in the first week wasn’t bad, but it was nowhere near the rate they needed to get the referendum.
“We need something to give to people who sign.”
“Like a thank you gift?”
“No.” She retrieved her bag from the living room and sketched out a quick design. “I’m thinking stickers. YES printed in big block letters and beneath it ‘I signed’. That makes signatories walking advertisements. It’s vague enough to prompt people to ask ‘signed what?’ And we should have a second set ready to go for the referendum itself with YES: I voted.”
“Oh that’s fabulous. We can have them at every signing station. Every business downtown has a stack of pages for the petition.”
“That’s a good start but we need more. Bigger. We need a street team. People who are actively out informing people and soliciting signatures. And we’d want them easily identifiable in a way that gets the message across very quickly and visually, so that as word spreads, people can find a petition to sign very easily. I was thinking red baseball caps with YES printed across the front. They’re attention getting and very clearly say YES, I support a size cap.”
“Richard can have those made up within a few days. I’ve got a good dozen people I can task with organizing a street team.”
Norah scribbled more notes. “Cam said it had to be a majority of registered voters. Can people who aren’t registered yet go do that and sign?”
“They can. And for anybody who wants to sign that isn’t registered, we’ve pointed them down to City Hall.”
“No you need to eliminate as many barriers as possible. If it’s allowed, have stacks of voter registration forms at each petition location so that it saves them from having to go get one. Even better if our business owners can just collect those and drop them off and save people a trip all together.”
“I’ll check with Sandra to find out the rules on that.”
Norah paused in the midst of her notes. “Look, I know you two are close—”
“Don’t worry. I won’t say anything. Nobody needs to know.”
“Thanks. For everything. I really didn’t come over here with the intention of falling apart on you.”
“Do you feel better?”
“Yeah.”
“Then it was exactly what you needed.” Molly moved to the sink with her plate. “You’re an incredibly strong woman, but I get the sense that you think that means you can’t ever lean on anybody else. That needing somebody else to shoulder some of the load somehow makes you weak.”
“We Burkes are a self-sufficient lot.”
“Self-sufficiency and strength aren’t always the same thing. Sometimes the strong thing is admitting you’re not and knowing that is absolutely okay.”
Norah sighed. “Then I’ll have to work on that.”
Molly wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “That’s the beautiful thing about life, sweetie. We’re all constant works in progress.”
~*~
She’d taken all her stuff.
By the time Cam got home from one of the crappiest workdays on record, he found that Norah had been by. Hush made a thorough inspection of the apartment and whined when she found no evidence of her favorite person. Everything was gone, down to her last pen—her shoes, her toothbrush, all her office supplies. The key he’d given her lay on the kitchen island without a note. The only things left were the copies of the city financial records she’d gone over for her rural tourism presentation, stacked neatly on the bottom shelf of the coffee table. She’d probably just overlooked them when cleaning herself out of his life.
He’d hoped beyond hope that he’d been wrong, that she’d have some kind of explanation for Chicago and Denver that would make all his imaginings some kind of bad dream. But she hadn’t said a word to contradict him. And now this.
They really were finished.
How the hell was he going to get through the next couple of weeks? If she even stayed that long. Who knew when she was due to report to her new job in Denver?
How would he survive after that? Wishful wasn’t the haven it had been when he and Melody split up. She’d never really been a part of his life here. But there was nowhere in his town that he didn’t associate with Norah now. She’d become a part of the town’s fabric. Now he’d only see the jagged tear she left behind.
And wasn’t that a bunch of melodramatic bullshit?
Retrieving the remaining half of a six pack from the fridge, Cam sank down on the sofa and pulled out the city financials. Hush scrambled onto her end of the couch and plopped down, staring at him with soulful eyes that seemed to say, What did you do? Ignoring his dog and the guilt that look engendered, he opened the binder. The sight of all the color-coded sticky tabs and post-it notes made his throat squeeze tight. This was the only thing she’d touched that she’d left behind.
Christ, he was in bad shape.
The records were arranged in chronological reverse order, beginning with the numbers for the last quarter. He flipped through, fingers tracing the notes she’d made in the margins. Until he reached a point a year before where she’d scribbled Pattern? with a number below. He set his beer aside and paid closer attention.
It took him about twenty minutes to figure out what she’d noted, and by then he hauled out his calculator. An hour and a half later, he’d plowed through the rest of the records and had pages of notes of his own. If these numbers meant what he thought they meant…
He called his mother. “Where are you?”
“At Liz and Pete’s. What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
“I need to talk to you. Stay put. I’m coming over.”
Loading up the books and his dog, he drove over to his aunt and uncle’s house. The moment he pulled to the curb he had cause to regret not asking his mother to come to him. From the look of things, the entire family was here. A quick, instinctive survey of vehicles showed him Norah’s car wasn’t among them. Not that it meant anything. She could just as easily have ridden with one of the others.
He wasn’t ready to see her again.
But it was too late to change his plan. Grammy was waving from the window. Bracing himself, Cam climbed out of the truck and headed inside. Everyone was gathered in the living room. No Norah. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
“What the hell is this? A summit meeting?”
“We were trying to figure out if it needed to be an intervention,” Grammy said.
Shit.
“Is Norah with you?” Aunt Liz asked.
The extra beat it took him to find his voice was the kiss of death. “No.”
“Then we were right,” Reed said. “You are having problems.”
“And that’s any of your business why?”
“No one knows where she is. She’s not answering her phone. And the last person we know saw her was Violet, who said she left the nursery this afternoon looking like you’d punched her in the stomach.” Mitch looked like he wanted to return the favor.
That was certainly a switch from what he’d seen. “She was perfectly calm when she left me.” No fight, just straight-up rationality, moving on to business as usual. With a short detour to clean herself out of his life with cold, clean efficiency.
“What did you fight about?” Grammy asked.
Cam struggled for patience. He hadn’t come here expecting an ambush. His mistake. “We didn’t fight.” He’d made sure of that, hadn’t he? Cutting her off at the first sign of conflict because he couldn’t deal with the confrontation and just wanted it over. But maybe she’d been more upset than he thought.
Absolutely nobody looked like they believed him.
“Look, did you try talking to Molly? Norah was going to check in with her on the petition. She’s probably holed up somewhere working on a new campaign.” Which he could verify with a few swipes of his phone, but God knew that damned app had given him more grief than it was worth. He didn’t want to check it again to find her halfway to…anywhere that wasn’t here.
Aunt Liz moved off to grab the phone, presumably to follow that lead.
“You can all take potshots at me later. I need to talk to Mom about city business. In private.”
They relocated to Uncle Pete’s study. Cam shut and locked the door behind them, which caused his mother to arch a brow.
“Not one word about her, Mom.”
Sandra Campbell Crawford knew when to choose her battles. Cam fully expected she’d pick this one when he least expected it.
“You said this was something to do with city business.” She nodded at the books under his arm. “What are those?”
“The copies I made of the city financial records. Norah was analyzing them for one of her projects. And she noted something unusual.”
“What kind of unusual?”
Cam laid out what first Norah and then he had discovered. “It was subtly done, but you see here? The digits are transposed. It starts with small amounts. And if it was just that, maybe we could chalk it up to human error or dyslexia or something. But over the next year and a half, they get bigger and bigger. If I did the math right, we’re talking about a difference of near to a hundred thousand dollars of city funds.”
“Dear God.” Sandra scooped a hand through her hair. “How far back does it go?”
Cam chose his words carefully. “Best I can tell, it started when you were out on medical leave. When Vick took over extra duties because Leigh Billingsly had to go on bed rest. Since she only came back half time after the baby was born, she probably just picked up where the books left off and didn’t go back to check the work that was done in her absence.”
“Cam, this is a huge accusation.”
“I know it. And maybe I’m wrong. But what if I’m not? Vick’s been living large when almost everybody’s hours and salaries have been cut to the bone. He’s just bought an SUV that’s almost as much as his annual salary. Where’s he getting that money?”
Sandra sat back and sighed. “I just can’t believe he’d be embezzling from the city.”
“Then how else do you explain these numbers? The system is obscenely antiquated. We’ve talked about it for years, but we haven’t ever done anything about it because there was always some other financial priority. We’ve got to look into this.”
“And we will, but quietly. Both because I’m not willing to make accusations without more definitive evidence and because if it’s true, I don’t want to spook him into covering his tracks.”
Sandra crossed to pick up the cordless phone on the desk. “Robert, it’s Sandra. No, no, I’m fine. Listen, are you busy? There’s something I need to discuss with you. No, it’s probably best if Cam and I come to you. We want to keep this on the down low. I need you to open an investigation into Vick Burgess.”