Lost and Found (32 page)

“Got it,” the man says, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

I stick my tongue out at him.

His shoulders jiggle a little. He better not be laughing at me.

James unhooks the sleeping baby from the carseat. “Come on little bug, time to go.”

I get out of the car on the other side, not waiting for the driver to open my door. He’s too busy worrying about James and the baby anyway.

I have to pull my dress down to keep my ass cheeks from feeling the breeze. Someone honks while I’m in the process and then whistles out his window.

Jerk
. I’m starting to think my cover as a Chinese food delivery girl might have gone over better as a cover for a call girl, but I’ll never admit that to James. He’d laugh his head off. His perfectly coiffed head.

Why did I say all those mean things to him? I don’t know. Maybe because all his money had me feeling self-conscious, which always makes me bitchy. I hate being poor. I think about how that ring looked on my finger and I get even crankier. The money from that thing would solve every single one of my problems.

“So … where to first?” James asks me as I join him on the sidewalk.

“What do you need?” I ask, looking up at him. In the glow of the Babies-R-Us lights, he looks like an angel, especially holding Cassie against him. When I have a husband, I want him to look just like this.

My heart flips over in my chest, and
damn
, it hurts when it does that. My husband will never look like this unless it’s him, and that can never happen. Sadness. Depression. Crap.

“Everything,” he says, oblivious to my discomfort. “Crib, stroller, highchair.”

“Highchair? Does she eat sitting up?”

“No. I guess not.” He grins. “See? I knew there was a reason I brought you along. You just saved me a hundred bucks probably.”

Maybe his words were supposed to make me feel good, but they have the opposite effect.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Did I say something bad?”

I shake my head and push him on the arm. “No. Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

“That distasteful, eh?” He’s still looking at me, even as we approach the entrance.

“No, not really. I just … I have to go soon. We need to hurry up.”

“All right then,” he says, “let’s do this.”

We walk into the store and I take James’s elbow, leading him over to the service desk.

“Where are we going?” he asks.

“Just follow my lead.” I make a beeline for the sales clerk standing there picking her cuticles.

“Hello,” I say, stepping up to her counter.

She raises an eyebrow at me. “Hello.”

Obviously, she’s not excited about providing any customer service, but I press on anyway.

“We’re here to buy a ton of baby stuff. We’re going to need some serious sucking up.” I’m still living the
Pretty Woman
moment.

She snorts. “Then you definitely did not come to the right place.” She points to her nametag on her shirt. “You see the words ‘suck up’ on here anywhere? No you do not. You see Tamika. That’s my name. Use it or lose it. I don’t care.” She deliberately turns her shoulder away from me and continues with her manicure.

My jaw drops open in shock at her rudeness.

“Come on, Betty, let’s go.” James has me by the elbow and he’s pulling me away from the counter.

“But … why are you calling me Betty again?” He’s successfully distracted me from my outrage by forgetting my name.

“Because whenever you go off the range and start acting like a nut job, you’re Betty to me.”

He releases me so he can grab a shopping cart, trying to push it in front of him with one hand. The wheels on the thing do not cooperate.

“That’s rude,” I say, losing most of my steam against Tamika or whatever her name was.

“So is telling someone they need to suck up.”

I grab the cart from him and sigh out in frustration. “For your information, I was having a
Pretty Woman
moment. She should have just gone with it. She has to know the correct lines. Everyone knows the lines.”

“I don’t know the lines. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Have you lived under a rock for the past thirty years or what?”

“No, I’ve been going to medical school, finishing my internship and residency, and then building a very busy private practice. It doesn’t leave much time for … whatever it is you’re talking about, apparently.”

“Well, we’re going to have to remedy that.” I take over the cart pushing and head towards the first aisle. “What else did you miss?”

“Anything after nineteen eighty six, pretty much.”

“Eighty six?” I look up at him, trying to find the wrinkles he’s obviously hidden. “How old are you, anyway?”

He smiles. “I’m thirty-nine.”

“You don’t look a day over thirty-eight,” I say, unable to help myself.

He shocks the shit out of me by pinching my butt.

“Hey!” I practically squeal.

“That’s what you get for sassing me. Now find me a crib, woman. I don’t have all night. And neither do you. Larry’s waiting.”

My face goes white. “What?” Did Larry call him? Are they in this together?

James looks at me, his smile changing to confusion. “It’s a joke, Leah. Lighten up.”

I try to smile my way back out of the panic. “Yeah, ha ha. Very funny. And by funny I mean not at all funny.”

James points to something off in the distance. “Cribs. And strollers.”

“Excellent,” I say, my voice full of fake cheer. “We’re already almost done.”

Chapter Sixty-Two

WHEN SHE’D SAID ‘
WE’RE ALMOST done
’ at the beginning of our trip, I lost some of my happy mojo. But I probably shouldn’t have worried. I don’t know a woman alive who won’t shop her ass off when given a blank check, and Leah is no exception. We’re having a hard time fitting all the things we bought into the limo, even considering the fact that we have a trunk big enough for ten dead bodies and a front seat to use.

“I’m going to put the rest in a taxi, if that’s all right with you, Doctor Oliver,” the driver says. He’s looking ruefully at the pile of bags on the sidewalk next to the limo.

“That’s fine.” I raise my hand at the first cab I see. It pulls over with a squeal of its tires.

“Man, no cab ever pulls over that fast for me,” Leah says with a sad face.

I put my arm around her and squeeze her close. “I don’t believe that.” I lean down and kiss her on the top of the head. “Come on. I’ll give you a lift home.”

I move forward but her feet don’t cooperate. My arm falls away from her shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“You kissed me.”

I have to think about it for a second. “Huh. I guess I did.” I don’t know why. It just happened. “So?”

She stares at me for a long time and then she shrugs. “Never mind.” She moves forward and gets into the back seat next to Cassie.

As I help the two drivers load the rest of the packages into the cab, I try to figure out what I did wrong. Was I not allowed to kiss her, even on the head? Is she mad I didn’t ask first? Is she upset I just assumed it would be okay? My inability to come up with an answer that makes me happy proves what I’ve known all along about myself: I know nothing about women.

When I get into the car, I find Leah staring out the side window.

“Are you mad?” I ask gently. Knowing her, I could spark a fire just asking the wrong question. I kind of like that about her. Must be the man-flu talking.

“No.”

I wait while the driver gets in and starts rolling away from the curb.

“You seem like you are.”

“Just tired.”

“What’s your address? We’ll bring you home.”

She turns to me quickly, like she’s suddenly woken up. “No! Just … I’ll get a cab from your place.”

“It’s really no trouble.” I look at the baby who’s staring off into space. “Cassie’s happy.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine with taking a cab. Really.” She looks up at the driver who’s watching us in the mirror. “Home, James.”

The guy rolls his eyes. I’m going to have to tip him big to get past this insult. Leah really has no idea how offensive she can be, but I like that about her for some strange reason. She’s real. She’s clueless but at the same time, she’s real. I’m not sure I’ve met any real people outside my own family, and even they are often constrained by the rules our parents imposed on us, the rules that say we have one face for family and a different face for the rest of the world.

I never questioned that idea before, but Leah makes me question it now. Is who I am really who I want to be, or am I just a product of my environment? Have I ever actually made a
conscious
decision to be who I show the world I am? I think I’m in the middle of an existential crisis brought on by extreme stress. Thirty nine years have gone by in my life and not once have I ever questioned myself.

The rest of the trip passes in silence. I want to say the right thing to smooth things over, but I don’t know what that is. I don’t even know what I did wrong. When we pull up to the front of the towers, Leah practically jumps out.

“When will I see you again?” I ask, maybe sounding a little too desperate.

“Probably never!” she yells, running down the sidewalk as fast as she can in her ridiculous heels. She’s trying to put her backpack on as she goes.

“What about the ring?!” I yell as she’s about to turn the corner at the next block.

“Keep it!” she yells and then disappears.

I smile to myself.
That’s going to be kind of difficult seeing as how I put it back in your backpack.

I’m grinning all the way up to my apartment. All the way through unpacking Cassie’s bags, I’m smiling. All the way through putting her down in her new crib, I’m basking in my win. All the way through the glass of whiskey I treat myself to, I think about how I got the last laugh on Leah. I congratulate myself and wallow in the glory that is me being a single uncle-dad who is no longer anchored to his bad luck by the weight of that fucking ring — the symbol of the bad decision that could have ruined my entire life.

I only stop grinning when I reach into the crack between my couch cushions to grab the bottle that got pressed in there and find that goddamn ring in there too.

“The hell?!” My yell startles Cassie, making her whimper in distress.

I run over to her crib and pat her leg until she falls back to sleep.

Leah. Leah
Betty,
that sneaky little wench. She totally and completely got one over on me. My head is ready to explode with disbelief and maybe even a little respect for her deviousness.

No way can I let her win.

Oh, this is so
on
right now. She is going down. I rub my hands together, trying to decide what my next move will be.

Chapter Sixty-Three

THE FARMERS’ MARKET ISN’T AS bad as I thought it was going to be. Now I kind of get why Belinda comes here every weekend. It’s wasn’t too difficult to set up, either, since she has a system and a notebook explaining everything I had to do step-by-step.

I put the sign in the window of the store telling customers where they can find us, loaded all the crates of merchandise and folding table and chair into a cab, and headed out to White Plains. Belinda even left me cab fare.

Our spot is ready with a tent over it and I’m set up to start selling the crap out of essential oils and incense cones by seven in the morning. I even have time to check out the other booths before my first customer shows up.

Several people have already dropped their business cards into the fishbowl on the table, hoping to be the winners of the free healing crystal contest I set up. This is my idea, not Belinda’s. Everyone who puts a card in is going onto our new mailing list.

“Excuse me, Miss,” an older woman says, smiling at me.

“Yes? How may I help you?” I haven’t sold anything yet, but I’m ready. I’m
so
ready. My goal is to beat Belinda’s best weekend ever — $550 in sales.

“I was wondering if you have anything that’s good for arthritis.” She holds out her misshapen hands. “I have a touch of RA.”

I smile warmly. Helping people find natural paths to healing gives me a special thrill. “Well, I’m no doctor, but studies have shown that essential oils — which are the basis for most traditional medicines — can be very effective.” I consult my handy chart, provided by the essential oil company we stock and verified online by Belinda. “For arthritis, we suggest —

A male voice cuts in. “I’d recommend the cyprus or juniper berry.”

The woman and I look at the interrupter. Out of the corner of my eye I see him drop a business card into the fishbowl, but my attention is mostly on his face. His gorgeous, perfect, very
familiar
face.

My heart stops beating for a few seconds when it registers who this is.
James
. He’s here with Cassie, and she’s asleep in the brand new stroller we bought for her last night.

Mind. Blown.

“What are you doing here?” I say to him in a near-whisper, frustrated that he’s found me out here in the middle of nowhere.
 

Dammit!
How did he find me? And does he know I left the ring in his apartment? No, he can’t possibly know. He won’t find that thing for months. No one is so anal they clean out their couch cushions every day, not even him.

I try to find confidence in that fact, but it’s not working very well. I’m panicking he’ll bust me, somehow reading my mind, seeing the vision of me shoving that stupid thing in the cushions right before I grabbed my bag and left with him to shop for Cassie.

“Are you a doctor?” the customer asks him, oblivious to my distress.

“Indeed I am.” James gives her that cheesy grin I know he loves and thinks is awesome.

Grrrr
, I so want to slap him right now. It’s annoying how quickly women fall under his spell. Can’t they see he’s manipulating them?
Ugh
.

“Do you use this stuff?” she asks, gesturing to my display.

I brace myself for the inevitable. Here’s where he says I’m a nutty nut bird who should take her snake oil and flush it. I’ve actually heard a medical doctor say that once.

“Yes, I do use and prescribe them for my patients from time to time,” he says. “I find it compliments the other medications and therapies typically utilized in a general Western medical practice.”