Ring of Truth (3 page)

“Goodbye, Kerry, pet. I'll miss you
molto, molto
.”

“Goodbye, Angelica. I'll miss you, too. I love you,” she added, as she had every time she'd said farewell to her godmother since the events of 9/11.

“I know that, darling girl, and it's been a great comfort, believe me.”

A hollowness filled Kerry's chest. How long would it really be before she saw Angelica again? Her godmother had always been her rock, the person she could turn to. For months ahead, Kerry's work routine in San Francisco at the bigger company on the eve of an IPO would rule out even quick trips back to New York. As for speaking together on the phone, that three-hour time difference between coasts would be a killer. And how long, she wondered, would Angelica be as spry as she was these days?

The clock in the living room tolled the hour, its delicate brass pings reminding her that Charlie was probably waiting impatiently at their apartment for her to fix him something to eat.

Kerry summoned a cheery smile. “Now, don't forget to read your email!”

“No,” her godmother said firmly. “Do the old fashioned thing and call me once in a while, will you?
Slàinte,”
she said, offering the Irish word for “To your health,” instead of her usual “
Ciao, bellissima
!”

“
Ciao,
Angelica,” Kerry replied, and walked swiftly down the hall as her godmother closed her front door.

The elevator swished to fetch her on the fourteenth floor, and in less than a minute whisked her down to the lobby where the doorman found her a cab for the ride across Manhattan in the pouring rain.

By the time Kerry's cab pulled up in front of the apartment that she and Charlie Miller shared on 87th and West End Avenue, the rain had tapered off and her stomach was rumbling. She waited impatiently for the vintage elevator to arrive, wracking her brain about what to whip up for dinner.

Or maybe just send out for Thai... unless Charlie's already ordered in.

Hoping for the latter, she slipped her key into the lock and opened the front door. She gave a sniff, but detected no scent of dinner wafting from a bag of cardboard cartons waiting to be revived by the microwave in their minuscule kitchen.

“Hey, hi... I'm home!” she called. Her words had a hollow ring, now that the movers had loaded the van with their furniture.

Charlie's slender, brown-haired figure was hunched over his laptop sitting on a packing carton in the middle of their bare living room.

“Did you bring food home?” he said without looking up as he continued to type furiously.

“No, did
you?
” she retorted, annoyed it was always assumed
she
was responsible for putting food on the table every single night.

“You're an hour later than you said you'd be. I thought you must have stopped somewhere to get us something to eat.”

“You were here all day,” she protested. “Couldn't you have run down to—”

“Cool it, Kerry,” he snapped. “I had a few more pressing things than to drink tea on Park Avenue, you know what I'm saying?”

Stung, Kerry turned abruptly and marched into the four-foot-square kitchen and opened the refrigerator that barely came up to her waist. She proceeded to throw together two omelets with the four remaining eggs, a tired green onion, and a wilted half of a red pepper that she diced into tiny cubes with a vengeance. She dished this hurried fare onto the paper plates they'd been using since her dishes had been packed.

“Here you go,” she announced, and left the food on a nearby suitcase they'd be taking with them in the morning.

She waited a millisecond for a “Thanks” and when it wasn't forthcoming, she headed directly for the bedroom. She ate her eggs while sitting on the bed that they'd previously sold to their neighbor who would move it across the hall once they'd left. In twenty-four hours, this room would be empty of any trace she'd ever lived here, and, for some reason, that thought brought a huge lump to her throat.

She rose to her feet, swiftly shed her clothes, and hopped into the shower, allowing a fierce stream of hot water to drown the sound of her soft weeping. She cried once again for the loss of Maggie Doyle and the generosity of the gallant, lonely woman living directly across Manhattan whom she would miss terribly during the next two years. And she mourned, too, the sudden, sorry state of her personal life.

***

Kerry slept fitfully beside Charlie, who had finally come to bed in the wee hours. She was already awake before the alarm on her cellphone was due to ring. She turned it off and bolted for the bathroom, thinking of a myriad of last-minute To Do's before the car service to the airport arrived.

She stared into the medicine cabinet mirror at her tousled head of shoulder-length, ebony hair and the royal blue eyes that distinguished her “Black Irish” ancestry, and wondered how, at thirty-three, she'd somehow lost her sex appeal? She glanced through the half-opened door at Charlie lying, face down, his head buried beneath his pillow. She realized, with a start, that they hadn't made love in—what? A month? Two? Could it be since Charlie first mentioned the possibility of selling CookChic to LifestyleXer, a deal that now sealed their joint fate?

That was it!

They'd ceased being intimate almost three months ago, right after all the negotiations to sign over their start-up to the bigger company began, and their new boss, Beverly Silverstein, insisted they make a move to San Francisco. What had appeared a solid personal-professional relationship between Charlie and her just seemed to unravel.

Kerry searched her memory for the exact moment it all seemed to go awry. Perhaps it was when her expression disclosed her dismay about the “offer they couldn't refuse”—moving to San Francisco.

At first, she'd been as excited as he was at the prospect of making some serious money for the first time in her life. But then, the thought of leaving her family, and—most of all—Angelica, now that she was both widowed and childless, plus the reality of the increased workload of writing more daily posts, along with supervising an army of bloggers around the country, began to weigh on her, and she'd summoned the courage to voice her misgivings.

“Look, Charlie... this offer sounded pretty great, at first, but when you really look at what our new bosses want from us—their demands are huge, and besides, it's really pushing me farther and farther away from what I love: which is
making
food, not writing about it!”

Charlie had been angry when she'd pointed out these negatives and responded, thin-lipped, “Look... you don't
have
to do this, you know. We can tell Beverly you just want to do your little blog from New York, and I'll recruit and manage the other blog teams from out there. We'd have to adjust the fifty-fifty deal between you and me, but—”

“
You
?” Kerry challenged, hurt he'd dismiss their relationship so casually. “You've never written or edited a piece of copy in your life.”

“Exactly!” he'd replied. “See how you're about to
screw up
everything? If you really want to grab that brass ring, Kerry girl, you'd better suck it up and head west to the new Gold Rush going on out there in Silicon Land.” When she'd remained silent, he'd grown impatient. “It's only for two years, for God's sake! Once the stock goes public and we vest, you're free to live wherever you damn please!”

“Can't we just say no to moving out there? Do it all from New York... and yes, I could
use
your help recruiting new bloggers!”

She could tell that Charlie had become even more exasperated with her, but he'd simmered down and merely gave a slight shrug of his black, T-shirt clad shoulders.

“Well, if you don't show them your good faith with the acquisition of CookChic before the company goes public, your
not
moving to company headquarters could actually be a deal-breaker... and wreck things for both of us.”

Recalling the conversation, now, only made her feel worse, so she turned on the water in the bathroom sink and began to scrub her face.

 She'd ultimately come to realize that for Charlie, it was all about the score... the “Big Bucks,” as he always termed it. And it didn't really seem to matter to him how he or she got to the big pay-off. Or, in her case, whether it felt right or made her happy. Just that he put a notch on his dot-com belt and that she was dumb not to do the same.

To be fair, she conceded silently, leaning over the bathroom sink to brush her teeth, Charlie Miller had taught her everything she knew about social media and building a business from scratch. She should at least give the guy some credit for that.

“Hey, you might eventually have enough money to invest in your own restaurant, kiddo!” he'd said, once the discussion was over and she'd agreed on the move. “Or you can buy out your mom and dad so they can retire”—though Charlie knew perfectly well that being partners with her brothers, Liam and Connor, at a beer and grill joint was not exactly what she had in mind.

Heaving a sigh for all the other things she
hadn't
said to Charlie to make a more convincing argument about her emotional obligations to Angelica and the other good reasons for remaining in New York, Kerry resignedly applied her lipstick and a touch of mascara to her already dark lashes. She donned the clothes she'd laid out to wear on the plane and headed through the bedroom with her remaining toiletries to pack them in her suitcase waiting in the living room.

“Charlie... wake up,” she called over her shoulder. “The car will be here in twenty minutes.”

By this time, Charlie had flopped over on his back, the overnight stubble on his slack jaw making it appear as if he hadn't washed his face in a very long time. His thinning brown hair had been flattened against his skull by the pillow he'd slept under, revealing a receding hairline that would be a serious detriment, one day, to his rather ascetic good looks.

“C'mon!” she repeated. “Up-and-at-'em. California here we come, right?” She was startled by her sarcastic tone. She was starting to sound just like Charlie.

Not good, she thought glumly.

She tucked her cosmetic bag into her suitcase and then spotted the airplane boarding passes Charlie had printed out after she'd gone to bed. She opened her purse to stow them where they'd be easily accessible and noticed the vintage leather ring box her godmother had given her, wedged next to her wallet.

She could hear Charlie pad toward the bathroom and soon the water was running in the shower, full blast. Meanwhile, she slowly lifted the box's lid and withdrew the Claddagh ring, her breath catching as she read the inscription engraved inside the gold band.

Know Thy Heart.

Tucked tightly against the red silk lining inside the box lid was a small, yellowed piece of paper that she unfolded, revealing a message penned in spidery script.

Be brave!—for the ring of truth will test you. Once on your finger, its power to speak endures but seven days. Listen and learn, lest you lose its wisdom and your heart's desire. When seven days pass, prepare to give the Claddagh as a gift. Once her face you see, you'll know the one who must the ring receive. On her bestow the ring of truth...

Kerry stared at the ring as she slipped it from its silk nest and onto her finger. Despite the jewelry's age and what the metal must have been subjected to on 9/11, its surface remained smooth and unblemished and the gemstone in the perfect shape of a heart. She'd put it on her right hand with the point of the heart facing outward—the age-old Irish symbol for an unmarried person who was “open to love.” Within seconds, an odd tingling began to radiate up her arm as she vaguely heard Charlie humming off-key in the bathroom.

Is Charlie Miller open to love?

Startled by the suddenness of this thought, she stared at the heart-shaped emerald, but the gemstone remained its lovely green hue. Apparently, she thought with a cynical grimace, the ring hadn't warmed up yet.

Tucking the empty ring box back into her purse, she noticed Charlie's laptop sitting on his suitcase, its battery charger plugged into both the computer and the wall. When she reached to unplug it for him, inadvertently touching the keyboard, the screen sprang to life. A glowing page from his Inbox displayed a long series of emails with the same name repeated nearly all the way down the page. Why were there so many communications these last days in New York from b.silverstein at lifestylerXer dot com that Kerry had never been copied on?

Beverly Silverstein was the executive that had let them know that closing their deal was on shaky grounds unless they agreed to move out to California until the public stock offering was final and their shares in the company fully vested.

Kerry was curious why it would have taken so many emails to Charlie to convey the facts they'd already agreed to? Or were there other elements of the new relationship between their buyer and CookChic she should have been told about? She would have been embarrassed to admit to Angelica that she'd left working out the details of their deal to Charlie and their lawyer—
his
lawyer, actually—and now she regretted not knowing much about the contract she'd signed.

Click on that name... the last entry at the top of the page...

Kerry heard her own sharp intake of breath and glanced down at her right hand. The emerald had taken on a glowing, pulsing opalescence, and a strange warmth had begun to spread up her right arm.

She shifted her gaze to Charlie's laptop and obediently clicked on the most recent email. A message instantly displayed across the screen, its date and time confirming that it was sent late the previous night.

Charlie Boy...

One last thought before u go to sleep... I cannot believe u will actually arrive in San Francisco tomorrow afternoon! Have u told KH yet? I'd just as soon have that dealt with b4 u walk into the Howard Street offices, please.

I'll have someone from r HR staff sit her down as soon as she is assigned her cubicle and explain how things r to b...

Meanwhile, lol & xoxo

Beverly

Kerry tore her gaze from the laptop as she heard Charlie's footsteps heading out of the bathroom. A jumble of emotions swinging wildly between suspicion, shock, and embarrassment for being caught reading somebody else's email propelled her across the living room to busy herself zipping up her carry-on bag.

Charlie called out, “You left a lipstick on the sink. If you want it, better come get it.”

“Yeah. Right. In a minute.”

Tell him what you've seen!

She didn't have to look at the Claddagh ring to know where
that
thought came from, but a quick peek confirmed it. The emerald stone now glowed a pearly white.

Then another notion floated through her head. Perhaps she was totally reading too much into that email—and only imagined that the ring had changed color since the stone had resumed its deep green hue once again. And she would have given anything to have had the time to click on some of b.silverstein's previous missives before launching any accusations at her lover and business partner. Didn't half the universe sign off “lol” and include the shorthand for “hugs and kisses?”

Charlie appeared at the doorway to the living room just as the laptop's screen reverted to sleep mode.

“C'mon!” he demanded, irritation lacing his words. “Let's move it! I just got a text that the car service is waiting downstairs. We can't be late
this
time, Kerry!”