Chapter 30
Mary lay down on top of her comforter, trying to fall asleep, her mind racing. After leaving the golf course that afternoon, she’d driven to the office to ask Mitchell if the station would pay for her lesson.
“If you get the interview, we’ll reimburse you,” he’d said.
When she’d tried to explain that she didn’t have the money to pay for the lesson up front, he’d acted as if he hadn’t heard her. “Kimberly is anchoring next Thursday. You can do Friday.” He looked at her as if waiting for her to react, so she gave him a halfhearted thumbs-up. Before she’d found out she was stuck here, her celebration would have been real, but now she thought of the opportunity as a task she had to accomplish to get home.
From the station, she had driven straight to Darbi’s, certain her cousin would help, but Darbi had snapped at Mary. “What am I, the Bank of Mulligan? I just gave you money to get your car out of the tow yard.”
Mouth gaping, Mary had stared at Darbi. Surely her cousin knew how important this was to her, more important than getting her car from the tow yard. She couldn’t believe she had to explain it. “It’s to help me return to my old life.”
Darbi’s entire body buzzed with a nervous energy. Her hands fluttered, and she tapped her toes on her chair. “Return to your old life, humph.” She’d made fleeting eye contact with Mary while repeatedly tugging at the strap of her wet bathing suit. Each time, it made a thwacking sound as it pulled away from her skin. “I’m not giving you money for a golf lesson.” She’d risen from her chaise longue like a rocket launching and stalked into the house to take a shower, leaving Mary bewildered by the pool, her anger with her cousin growing by the second.
Now, Mary tossed and turned. She flipped her pillow, hoping the other side would be cool. It wasn’t. The fans in her windows whirled at full speed, doing absolutely nothing to counter the oppressive heat. She’d forgotten how the attic apartment turned into the world’s hottest sauna during the dog days of summer. The first time she’d lived here, Dean had surprised her during a prolonged heat wave by buying and installing portable air conditioner units in her bedroom and living room. Thinking about all the little ways he’d looked out for her through the years that she didn’t appreciate made her heart ache. He’d always come through for her. He would come through for her this time too. He had to. For their family.
There had to be a way for her to get the money for the lesson. Jacqui would help, but she was in New York at a trade show, and Mary hadn’t been able to get a hold of her. There was no one else she could ask. She felt that familiar tightness in her chest that preceded a panic attack. No, no, no. She couldn’t afford to have a full-blown panic attack. Not now. She needed to figure this out. Fresh air usually calmed her. She raced out of her bedroom and across her apartment to the outdoor stairway. Leaning against the banister, she gulped in huge breaths of air.
Once the viselike grip on her chest had loosened, she sank to the top step, relishing the slight breeze that brought momentary relief from the stifling heat. She rested her head against the side of the house and closed her eyes. Headlights from Brady’s Jeep illuminated the driveway. In the quiet of the night, she heard music from his car stereo, Brett Young begging someone to have mercy on him. She knew exactly how the singer felt. Brady backed into his spot like he always did, as if he needed to be ready to make a quick getaway at any time. The music petered out, and he jumped out of the vehicle, striding around to the passenger side to unfasten Frank Sinatra’s seat belt. The dog leaped onto the driveway and trotted toward the staircase, his long tail slashing side to side through the thick night air.
“Frank,” Brady called, charging across the lawn after the dog. Frank stopped on the step below Mary, nudging her with his nose, demanding to be patted. The feel of his silky hair helped slow her pounding heart.
Brady took the stairs two at a time, coming to an abrupt stop when he saw Mary sitting on the top step scratching the dog’s neck. “Everything okay? Why are you out here in the middle of the night?”
Everything’s fine. The words were on the tip of her tongue. It’s what she always said when someone asked her how she was, not wanting to bother them with her troubles. She’d even used the line on Dean through the years. This time, she stopped herself. She was scared out of her mind. In all likelihood, she wouldn’t be able to scrounge up the money for a lesson with Dean. She needed someone to talk to about it other than Belli.
She sucked in a big breath, ready to spill her guts. “Trying to figure out a work problem.”
Brady slid down next to her on the stair. “Hit me up.”
He seemed like he really wanted to help, and Mary felt a tad bad for always thinking the worst of him. After all, she’d definitely played a part in whatever had happened between them.
Frank Sinatra squeezed between them and made his way to the welcome mat for a nap, as if he knew they’d be talking for a long time.
“I’m up for a big promotion, but to get it, I have to interview someone who never talks to the press.”
On the street in front of the house, a motorcycle raced by.
“What’s the promotion?” Brady asked.
“Reporter for the Morning Show in Chicago.”
His jaw tensed. “You’re moving to Chicago?”
The disappointment in his voice and look of sorrow on his face triggered a memory, or whatever the uploads of past experiences that she sometimes received were. He’d been sitting next to her on the sofa in her apartment. Ozark was playing on the television, but neither of them was watching. Brady wore the same sorrowful expression he wore now.
His voice interrupted the memory. “I’d really miss you if you move to Chicago.”
Again, he sounded like he meant it. Maybe she’d had it all wrong about him, and he was a good guy. She certainly hadn’t gotten many things right, starting with when she’d dismissed Darbi’s story out of hand at lunch that day. She pushed away the thought, uncomfortable with how it made her feel, as if she were at fault for getting herself into this predicament. “I only get to go if he agrees to the interview.”
“Who?”
“Dean Amato.” Thinking Brady wouldn’t know who Dean was, she added, “The golfer.”
Brady whistled. “America’s lovable loser. That’s going to be tough. Rumor has it that he said no to Oprah.”
Realizing that Brady not only knew who Dean was but apparently was aware of his boycott of the press made her task seem insurmountable. She slumped over, her head curling toward her chest.
“Come on, now.” Brady rubbed her back. “I said tough, not impossible.”
She stiffened at his touch and slid away from him, feeling guilty because he was being so nice, but she definitely didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.
They sat without speaking. Frank Sinatra’s snoring provided the soundtrack for the moment. Mary turned to look at the dog. He was stretched out on the mat, his legs twitching as if he were dreaming about chasing a squirrel. She feared Frank had a better chance of catching the imaginary squirrel than she did of landing an interview with Dean.
“I was able to get on the schedule for a golf lesson with him. It’s my last chance to try to convince him, but I don’t have the money to pay for it. The station will only reimburse me if he agrees to the interview.”
“How’s a lesson going to help? You want to interview him, not challenge him to a round.”
An ant crawled up Mary’s leg, and she flicked it away. “While he’s giving me the lesson, I can talk to him, try to change his mind.”
“What are you going to say?”
She shrugged because she hadn’t figured that part out yet.
“You need a plan,” Brady said.
It was exactly what Darbi always said. They were right, yet somewhere inside her she believed Dean would agree to the interview. The connection they shared from their other lives would break through at some point, and he would want to help her. That was her plan.
“How much?”
She knew Brady had said something but, lost in thought, she hadn’t been paying attention to the words. “Excuse me?”
“How much do you need for the lesson?”
“One hundred and seventy-five.” Ordinarily, she’d never ask him for money, but these were no ordinary times. She studied the night sky so she wouldn’t have to look at Brady, hoping the stars would give her the strength she needed to ask him.
As if he sensed she was about to hit him up for money, he stood.
Mary expected he’d grab Frank and race down the stairs. Instead, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.
“You’ll loan me the money?”
He handed her a wad of cash.
Tears clouded her eyes. “Thank you, thank you.”
“That’s what friends do, Mary. They help each other out.”
Friends. He’d stressed that word. She knew he was trying to convey some kind of a message, and she suspected it had to do with whatever had happened between them. All she could think about now, though, was convincing Dean to do the interview and getting home.