Chapter 8 — Don’t Buy My Forgiveness

Noah came back carrying two paper cups and a packet of crackers.

“They’re moving Dad upstairs,” he said. “He asked whether the room had a window.”

“Of course he did,” Cassie murmured.

“He also asked whether he could go home if the window was disappointing.”

She laughed, briefly and helplessly.

The sound eased something in my chest.

Noah handed her a cup, then held the second one toward me.

“Coffee. Probably.”

“Thank you.”

He sat at the end of the row.

“I’m going home to get his things. Mom wants to come in the morning.”

“How is she?” I asked.

“Worried. Her joints are bad in weather like this, so she’s not coming out tonight.”

Cassie reached for her bag.

“I can give you money for a cab.”

“I’ve got it.”

“I know what you’ve got.”

They looked at each other with the weary familiarity of an argument that had happened before.

“I can call one,” I said.

Both turned toward me.

“A regular taxi,” I added. “Nothing complicated.”

Noah considered me.

“Would it make you uncomfortable if I said yes and still didn’t like you?”

“No.”

“Good. Because that’s where I am.”

Cassie lowered her face into her hands.

“Noah.”

“What? I’m being honest.”

I took out my phone.

“It’s an improvement over most conversations I’ve had tonight.”

He almost smiled.

I booked the taxi, showed him the pickup details, and put the phone away.

Nobody had to thank me twice.

Before he left, he bent to kiss Cassie’s forehead.

“Text me if anything changes.”

“I will.”

When he was gone, she opened the crackers.

She offered me one.

I accepted.

It tasted like cardboard. I ate it anyway.

“You missed dinner,” she said.

“So did you.”

“I ate standing beside a dishwasher at five.”

“That doesn’t sound like dinner.”

“It was food. We don’t get ambitious on Thursdays.”

She broke another cracker in half.

I thought of the long shift, the medication in her bag, the careful discussion over taxi money.

“May I ask about your father’s consulting invoices?”

Her hand stopped.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know whether he was paid for all the work connected to that report.”

“You want to send him money.”

“I want to establish whether we owe him money.”

“That’s how it starts.”

I set the cup on the floor beside my chair.

“How what starts?”

“Someone does something wrong. Then they offer to make things easier. After that, you’re supposed to stop being difficult.”

“I won’t ask him to stop.”

“You don’t have to ask. People feel it.”

I let her finish.

“If you pay his bills, I have to wonder whether I’m being unfair every time I’m angry with you.”

“Then I won’t pay his personal bills.”

She looked at me.

“What?”

“I won’t make that offer. The review can establish unpaid fees or losses connected to the work. Your father can discuss those with his representative.”

“And if he doesn’t want to?”

“That’s his decision.”

She searched my face for the condition I hadn’t stated.

I knew that look by now.

“And none of it depends on what you think of me,” I said.

“You say that very easily.”

“It isn’t easy. I would prefer you to think well of me.”

For a moment, she looked almost amused.

“At least that’s honest.”

“I’m trying.”

She looked down at the broken cracker.

“My father needs his name back more than he needs you to be generous.”

“He should have both accurate recognition and whatever he’s owed.”

“Without being grateful.”

“Without being grateful.”

Her phone vibrated.

Gordon.

She read the message, then passed me the screen.

I owe you an explanation about tonight. Walter asked me to let him know if someone senior from Bellacort came in. I recognized Adrian after seeing the card. I should have told you then. I was afraid of putting you in the middle, and I ended up doing exactly that. I’m sorry.

There was a second message.

The wine was an earlier service mistake. It should have been removed before your table was billed. You won’t be charged, and the revised receipt is being sent to him.

Cassie took the phone back.

“He let me stand there worrying.”

“Yes.”

“And then decided a secret message was better than talking.”

“He admitted he handled it badly.”

“That doesn’t erase it.”

“No.”

She typed, paused, and erased what she had written.

Finally, she sent a reply.

I need you to explain this to me properly when I’m back at work. Please don’t make decisions involving my family without telling me.

I watched her put the phone away.

“Are you going to speak to the owner?” she asked.

“About the deductions?”

“Yes.”

“If you want me to.”

“I want you to tell him what happened. Not buy the place. Not scare Gordon.”

“I can do that.”

She glanced toward my hands, then up at my face.

“Can you?”

The question had more in it than the restaurant.

I rested my arms on my knees.

“There are people who listen to me because they’re afraid not to.”

“I gathered.”

“I’m used to that being useful.”

“And tonight?”

“Tonight it would have made things worse.”

She nodded slowly.

“I don’t want to become someone people are afraid to disappoint because I know you.”

“You won’t have to.”

“That can’t just be something you promise. You have to notice when it’s happening.”

I looked at her for a long moment.

“You’re right.”

She leaned back against the wall.

Loose hair had fallen from her clip. A faint crease marked her cheek where she had rested it against her hand.

I wanted to brush the hair away.

Instead, I picked up my coffee.

“Was any of the man at the restaurant real?” she asked.

“The boots.”

“Adrian.”

“And the repair work. I really did start that way.”

She waited.

“I liked talking to you,” I said. “That was real.”

“Even before you knew about Dad?”

“Yes.”

“Even when you thought I was just a waitress?”

The question hurt because I understood why she asked it.

“You were the only person there I wanted to keep talking to.”

Her eyes lowered.

“I liked you too.”

I didn’t move.

She shook her head slightly.

“That’s why I was so angry. If I hadn’t liked you, I could have gone home thinking you were another man with a strange hobby.”

“A strange hobby?”

“Dressing up badly and making women audition.”

I winced.

She noticed.

“Good,” she said. “You should hear how it sounds.”

“I do.”

Silence settled between us, easier this time.

Then she turned toward me.

“If we talk again after tonight, I need you to tell me things before I have to discover them.”

“I will.”

“And don’t send someone to investigate my family.”

“I won’t.”

“Don’t decide my job needs fixing without speaking to me.”

“I won’t.”

“And don’t agree with everything because you want me to stop being angry.”

I looked at her.

“I don’t agree that the Corolla lacks dignity.”

A smile slipped out before she could stop it.

“The door has to be kicked open.”

“It has character.”

“It has structural problems.”

“I’ll accept an independent review.”

She laughed, quietly enough not to disturb the people around us.

Then she grew serious again.

“I’m still angry.”

“I know.”

“But you can sit here.”

I looked at the empty seat beside her.

“Here?”

She nodded.

I moved my cup, stood, and took the chair.

Our shoulders didn’t touch.

For the first time that night, I didn’t feel compelled to close the remaining distance.