10. Ten #2
“Riley, as in the Wilmington Rileys? Riley Trust Bank?”
“Yes, that’s us.”
“Your Aunt Cheryl was in my knitting group once upon a time. The Knit Wits. Sign my petition? We’re trying to get the city to add a bus stop out here. People need work—they can find it on our farms.”
Lauren’s dumbfounded look is replaced with a smile. “Oh, sure.” She scribbles her signature across the rumpled page.
Dot tucks her Cheetos in her pocket, and her arms fold in a huff. “Funny that you’ve popped by before. What was that? A few weeks ago? Were you hoping to see Ben?”
“Oh, no. Of course not. I didn’t realize Ben was connected to Saddletree until recently. Um, I was passing by and needed coffee,” she says quickly.
Dot’s you’re-full-of-shit expression is unmistakable. Her dark eyes narrow with icy skepticism. “No one’s just passing by out here.”
Her elegant shoulders bounce again. “I was.”
I nudge Dot’s side, encouraging her to stop the interrogation.
“Um, I was telling Ben about Riley Trust’s family picnic next weekend. Dad and I would love you to come. Food, games, live music, and I bet Ruthie will love our bounce houses and pony rides.”
I chuckle. “She’d probably take over the pony rides.”
Ben smirks.
“Right, I hear you’re both quite the equestrians,” she says.
Ben talked about that with her? “Well, we like to think so. Do you ride?”
She waves her hand dismissively. “When I was younger. All girls go through a horse stage. I showed a few times. Couple of blue ribbons. No biggie.”
“Well, it was a late-in-life calling for me, for enjoyment, not competition. Ruthie loves it. She wants to be a farm vet one day.”
“And an astronaut,” Ben adds.
“And a contractor,” Dot says.
A grin passes between us. We play Ruthie’s Future Game often.
“I’ve got a doctor and lawyer myself,” Lauren volunteers, not to be left out. “Omar and Frederick are at Duke.”
I perk up. She has kids. Probably a husband, too. Lighten up, Lena. “Oh, that’s great. You must be so proud.”
She prompts her phone to show me their picture.
Dot leans in, too. “Handsome fellas. What’s Mr. Lauren do?”
She chuckles, her eyes returning to Ben. “Oh, there’s no Mr. Lauren.”
Dot grunts, reading my mind.
“Anyway, I realize your weekends are packed,” she goes on. “But the picnic’s a great chance to get to know our work family before you decide.”
“Decide what?” Dot retrieves her pocket snack and chomps on another Cheeto.
“Riley Trust has offered Ben a job,” I tell her (and the rest of the room).
“Ben already has a job,” Alice says with staunch disapproval. “He’s a highly decorated and respected lieutenant with the Wilmington Police Department.”
“I’m aware,” she says.
“Doing what?” Dot asks.
“Handling security at Riley Trust.”
Dot scoffs. “You want him to be a mall cop?”
“Ben Wright is no mall cop,” Alice says, a scary fire in her eyes.
“Is there a competitive benefits package?” Mr. Wickers asks.
“Guys, this isn’t an open forum on Ben’s future,” I say.
“Does this job involve working beside you?” Dot asks.
“Our paths will cross. He’ll work more with my father. He thinks the world of Ben. Always has. Not that he had much choice.”
“How come?” Dot asks.
Lauren’s shoulders rise slightly. “Oh, Ben and I were inseparable back then.”
“Inseparable, huh?” Dot challenges with another Cheeto.
“Not true. My many deployments suggest otherwise,” Ben says in awkward defense, easing his hand around my waist as if I need comfort. Or control.
Lauren shifts on her expensive wedges. “Dad took a great interest in Ben and his military career. Mentored him, even. They were close for years, even before we got engaged.”
The word hangs like a noose dropped from the ceiling beams, dangling between us and waiting for a taker.
Dot’s eyes burn a hole in my face. It takes every iota of fortitude I have not to break eye contact with Lauren. Or give Ben the angry stare-down he deserves.
Keep it together. A tense beat passes.
“Well, that’s ancient history,” she adds awkwardly. “I better get back. I hope you’ll make it to the picnic.”
“We’ll consider it,” Ben says while I belt out, “We’ll be there.”
“I’ll text Ben the details. Nice to meet all of you. Feel better, Lena.”
She floats toward the door with Mr. Wickers dutifully following. When the glass door eases shut, a collective sigh waves over the crowd as they stare at me quizzically. I’m rattled—they all see it. And I hate it.
“Keep your shit together,” Dot whispers with Cheeto breath. “At least until she’s left the parking lot.”
“Um, thanks, everyone, for helping,” I say. “Saddletree’s in good hands, so I’ll just, um… I have a… Oh, I forgot to…”
I want to run as far away from people as possible. But their watchful eyes, my rubber boots, and my insane soreness prevent me. As I descend the patio, the dogs rush up, and I lavish them with love. Everything’s normal. Nothing to see here.
Ruthie plods up. “Can I feed the bunnies?”
“Yes, please. That would help.”
She rushes to the pens. I can’t get her to clean her room, but she loves farm chores.
Mr. Wickers meets me as I cross the driveway toward the barn. He waves a five-dollar bill in the air. “A tip! My first tip!”
“That’s nice,” I manage.
“Everything okay, Lena?”
“Fine, Mr. Wickers.”
“Things are always fine until they’re not,” he says. “Anything I can do?”
“Um, keep an eye on Ruthie? She’s feeding the bunnies. I need… a minute.”
“Sure thing, Lena.”
Mr. Wickers also loves farm chores.
I quick-step toward the house, hoping to secure myself inside before breaking down. Ben lied to me. Again. Harsh, bitter feelings circulate like poison in my bloodstream, sadness most of all.
I miss Mom. If she were here, she’d put her arm around me and give me all those magical assurances that only moms can give. You’re safe and loved and everything’s okay.
I bypass home for her tree, hoping to feel close to her, since I no longer feel close to my husband.