Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
M aria’s home shocked me. I pulled into the driveway and wondered if I’d stumbled onto an old-world-style luxury hotel.
I was checking the text she’d sent me when Maria appeared beside what appeared to be a giant five-car garage the size of a house, detached from the mansion next to it. Wearing slippers and a bathrobe, her long dark brown hair loose, she waved and pointed to where I should park next to the garage.
She hugged me as soon as I stood up out of my car. “It’s my parents’,” she said airily, waving at the mansion behind her. “I live in the apartment over the garage.”
“Thanks for letting me stop by,” I said, tugging at my sweat-stained hoodie. “Sorry I’m such a mess.”
Maria waved a hand around. “Ha—they wouldn’t let me into a Walmart with what I have on.” She eyed me, flipping her hair to one side. “This is a different look for you—soccer mom or something. I’m going to stop talking now and bring you inside before Pippa, my stepmother, pounces on you and tries to feed you up. Down this path to the back of the garage and there’s my door. Come on.”
We climbed up outdoor stairs to a balcony with a black iron railing. There were ceramic flowerpots full of faded blooms and a table with a blue-striped shade umbrella and chairs.
Maria’s apartment turned out to have nearly as many square feet as the townhome I owned with Gerry. She had a full kitchen, with two barstools at the counter, and a living room with three big windows and attractive midcentury modern furniture. There was one bathroom, a laundry room, and her large bedroom.
“This is so cute,” I said.
She shrugged. “It suits me. Hang on—I have some seltzer water with mint and lime juice—you’re going to love it. Sit down.”
I collapsed onto one of her chairs. My eyes closed as soon as she went into the kitchen, and I put my head in my hands. If I stayed with my sister in Portland, I’d have to leave her house at seven to get to work on time and sleep on her couch with the dogs.
Ice cubes rattled in a glass next to my face. I sat up fast, then swayed back as my vision went fuzzy.
Maria crouched down next to me. “You’ve left Gerry, haven’t you?”
My face scrunched up, and I flattened a hand against my heart. “S-sorry.”
After scooting the other chair closer to mine and placing a box of tissues in my lap, Maria settled next to me with her arm around my shoulders.
“I’m really sorry.” I honked my nose. “Y-you don’t deserve this.”
“Psht. No more apologizing. I’m glad you’re doing this, leaving Gerry, I mean. I don’t know him well. Even so, I don’t like him. My gut is famous for unbelievable judgment. I can tell what’s happening is good.”
I gathered my pile of used tissues into my hands and stood up to find the garbage.
“Don’t judge me by my kitchen,” Maria called out. “It came with the house.”
“Pretty bouquet,” I managed to say, wiping at the wet still streaming down my face.
Maria popped into the kitchen. “Hang on—I have cheese. And unopened crackers. Maybe even some grapes…” She opened the fridge and started rattling around.
I shuffled over to a bar stool.
A glass of chilled rosé appeared in front of me. “Drink a little,” Maria said. “I’ll feed you, I promise.”
There wasn’t any resistance in me. Maria told me a story about meeting up with Autumn the night before. They had drinks bought for them by a raunchy group of tourists, and then they’d snuck out through the alleyway to avoid them.
By the time I followed her over to the couch with a full plate and glass, I was contained once again.
Maria raked her hair back with her fingers, sprawling out on the cushions. “So, tell me. What did it?”
I blinked, my nose stinging again. My fingers tried to smooth out the wrinkles in my chinos. “It’s not something I want to broadcast around. Gerry would become impossible.”
She raised an eyebrow at me. “Why does that matter?”
I blew out a breath. “We own a townhouse together. And he owes me money.”
“Ugh. You’re practically married.” She took a sip of her wine. “Listen, I’m not going to blab about it. My gut is saying I need to know. To help you.”
My wineglass clunked on the coffee table when I set it down. My hands were shaky. “He stole money from me—my accounts, personal credit cards.”
“Holy shit. Seriously?”
I nodded.
She flopped back into the couch cushions. “Wait, why aren’t you going to the police?”
“I gave him a week.”
“Do you have somewhere to stay?”
“No.” I closed my eyes. “I mean, I told him not to go in our bedroom… He has an office.”
“You’re staying here.” She slapped a cushion with her hand.
“What?”
“Yes. I’ll talk to Pippa and Daddy sometime this weekend—there’s a guest room in the big house that will be perfect. Has its own entrance. It’s close to my apartment, too.”
“Oh, no. I couldn’t?—”
“Yes, you will. No refusing. It’s all happening. You are going to Marialand, a wine-soaked getaway from assholes. First, we’ll get your things. Don’t leave anything for him to steal. Then we eat. Do you know what’s the best way to forget a man? No? Get drunk and sleep with another.”