Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lucas wasn’t at work during my shift for the next few days, and I didn’t know how to reach him without asking the staff manager for his number.
I couldn’t bring myself to do that, and the fear he was intentionally avoiding me pressed on my lungs.
I wanted to accept his offer. I wanted to go to France.
Most importantly, I wanted to confess my lie and my reasons.
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to hide.
In the meantime, I refocused on the things I could do until I saw him again, like meet with my attorney for pretrial preparations.
I parked my new-to-me sedan along the curb outside the law office and headed inside with my head held high. We hadn’t spoken since the day I detailed my findings to her, and I hoped she had some good news for me.
The office was utilitarian with zero frills or pretense. The paralegal at the front desk welcomed me, and I sat in a plastic chair before a window overlooking the street.
My attorney came to meet me and walked me to her office several minutes later. “How’ve you been?” she asked, sweeping her brown hair into a knot atop her head. The move revealed blue and purple strands beneath, and I smiled.
“I could be better,” I said. “But I’m also quite happy. Finalizing the divorce would be the frosting on my cake.”
She nodded and motioned me to an armchair across from her desk.
“I’m glad things are going well for you.
I’m sorry you’re having to put up with the added trouble of your husband’s bankruptcy claim.
I’ve printed and noted everything you sent me about the paperwork hidden at the marital home.
We don’t want to reveal our knowledge of any of that to opposing council, if possible. ”
I sat back with a frown. “How can we use it to prove he’s lying if they don’t know we know?” I asked.
She tapped her pen against a file folder, looking as frustrated as I felt.
“The temporary orders which were put in place following the initial hearing require both of you to be mindful, respectful, and noninvasive of one another’s personal space.
No harassing, no stalking, that sort of thing.
I’m afraid that breaking in, after he’d changed the locks—”
“Why was he allowed to change the locks?” I interrupted. “It’s still half my house.”
She lifted a palm. “I know, but regardless of how the judge will feel about the lock change, you knew the place was locked, and instead of reaching out to him or coming back another time, you found an alternate way inside. I can guarantee the judge will frown on that. Furthermore, you snooped through his private things. If the tables were turned, and I knew this had happened to you, I’d be in court making a stink. ”
My mouth opened, and I slumped. The idea of Robert in my private space, searching through my new home for something to use against me, made me sick.
“What he’s doing is wrong,” she said. “But two wrongs don’t negate one another. Is there any chance he’ll discover you were there?” she asked. “Security systems, hidden cameras? Loose-lipped neighbors? Anything like that?”
Goose bumps cascaded over my skin at the memory of lying on the bathroom vanity in my underwear. “He knows,” I said. “Do I have to give details?”
She hung her head. “Based on your expression, I’m going to pass and move on, unless there’s anything else from that night you want to share.”
I told her about the boat and its sale.
She grimaced.
“I have the receipt, and I opened a savings account with half the money that’s meant for him.
Depositing it into one of our joint accounts would only set off his alarm bells, plus the court wants to split those accounts in half, and I’ve already taken my portion of the boat money. ” And spent it, I thought.
Jill made a note. “Any word from the forensic accountant?” she asked.
“No.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve worked with that team enough to know they’ll take the information provided and use it to find exactly what you need.”
We spent the next hour preparing for the divorce pretrial.
She walked me through what to expect from the time I arrived at the courthouse until the moment things ended.
She and Robert’s attorney would do most of the talking, privately with the judge.
They’d present all the issues we had and had not agreed upon through mediation and the things the judge might have to decide upon via a trial, unless we came to an agreement sooner.
She assured me that most divorce cases don’t go to trial, and that many are settled on the day of trial before the trial even begins.
I held on to that hope with both hands.
“It’s ironic,” I said, standing to leave.
“If you’d asked me when I first moved out, I would’ve said I didn’t want anything.
I just wanted to be free of him. Back then, I didn’t have a job and would’ve struggled infinitely without at least some of the marital money.
Now, I’ve shown myself I can make it on my own, but I intend to get half of everything, because it’s half mine.
We built that life together, each playing our specified roles, and regardless of anything he said or will say, my role was just as important as his. ”
My attorney smiled. “That’s what I like to hear.”
I stopped by the restaurant that evening, hoping to catch Lucas.
I took a leap of faith and prepared a grand gesture in case he was there.
A half dozen of my best pains au chocolat, the pastry I’d used to introduce him to the Invisible Baker, sat inside a pink bakery box, clutched in my trembling hands.
I wanted the gift to double as a revelation.
I hoped Lucas would appreciate the sweet reveal. Or at least, I hoped the offering would soften the blow of my deceit.
I tightened my grip on the petal-pink box as I opened the glass front door. The dinner crowd was thick as I made my way to the hostess stand to ask if Lucas was on shift.
A cluster of women in pink T-shirts filled the space near the desk.
I contemplated searching for him myself, but frayed nerves held me in place.
The group before me chattered as they waited for the hostess to return. Someone suggested a photo, and they moved to stand before the empty display case with a The Invisible Baker sign on top.
My mind boggled when they turned, revealing the print on their matching shirts.
Not all heroes wear capes.
Some bake.
Time slowed as I read the words again.
The hostess, Pam, appeared in the distance, hustling in our direction, until her eyes met mine. Then she stopped short, pulled a phone from her pocket, and hurried away.
My phone rang a heartbeat later.
The pink-shirted group turned toward me at the sound. Their eyes widened.
I balanced the box against my hip and answered the call, panic tightening my throat.
“Sophie,” Pam whispered. “They know. We all know.”
My mouth opened, then shut.
Should I run? Feign confusion? Spill the truth to these strangers before speaking with Lucas?
No, I couldn’t do that.
One of the gaping women raised her phone, and I winced in response. But she didn’t record me; she turned away and tapped the screen. Was she sending a text? Making a phone call?
My heart hammered and my pulse beat audibly in my ears as the others stared. They looked to my panicked face, then at the box in my hands on repeat. My skin heated to combustion, and my emotions launched straight from earth and into the atmosphere.
This was not how tonight was supposed to go. I’d planned to share my secret with a friend, whom I trusted to accept my confession without making me regret it.
The epiphany nearly derailed my panic. I trusted Lucas.
Not just abstractly, or in theory, but in practice, and completely.
As if somehow conjured by my thoughts, he appeared.
Virginia strolled along at his side.
The disappointment in his eyes nearly ruined me.
Virginia’s expression lit up when she noticed me at the front desk. “Sophie, we were all just talking about you.”
My good manners insisted I return her polite greeting, but words failed. I looked to Lucas for help, and he nodded. What did that mean? What should I do? Where was Alicia when I needed—
No, I thought. I don’t need someone else to handle my messes anymore.
I could do this.
I had no idea how, but I would figure it out on my own.
Breathe, I reminded myself. Collapsing now would only cause a scene and ruin my perfect pastries.
“We hoped we’d run into you tonight,” Virginia said. She motioned vaguely to the women in pink shirts. Her easy smile added confusion to my already rattled mind. Her morning post about my company was positive and informative. I’d assumed that would be the end of her interest in my story.
So why was she here?
“We stopped by earlier,” she continued. “I thought I’d catch you around the same time we met before.
Oh!” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m so sorry.
You probably don’t remember me. I’m Virginia Bonnie Black.
We talked about the Invisible Baker,” she said, as if that was something I could possibly forget.
She had me cornered with a camera on her phone and a captive audience, but she didn’t call me out on my lie. She’d asked directly about the Invisible Baker, and I’d dodged her.
Why wasn’t she burning me alive?
Virginia tipped her head at me from several feet away, where she’d stopped, presumably giving me room. “This isn’t an ambush. I promise.”
I darted my gaze around the foyer and dining room, where guests had taken notice of our interaction. If this wasn’t an ambush, then what the hell did she call it?
“When I realized you were the woman behind the Invisible Baker,” she continued, “I had to speak to you again. I couldn’t help myself.”