No Buffer Zone
Maddox
Her story. Whatever it was, I felt like an asshole for bringing it up. But I had my reasons.
Before we could start fresh, I'd have to cross two hurdles. I'd need to explain why I was here and tell her who I was.
I couldn't cross either hurdle until I learned more about her troubles.
But more to the point, the sooner I learned what was going on, the sooner I could figure out what to do. If she needed backup, I was just the guy to give it.
For now, the plan was simple.
She could tell her story, and I'd tell her some of mine – starting with why I was here and ending with the rest of it.
Yeah, I meant the scandal that nobody was willing to forget. I wanted her to hear it directly from me, preferably before she heard the tabloid version from a stranger on the street.
Hell, it was a small miracle she hadn't heard it already.
The whole thing had blown up bigger than a royal divorce. Then again, if you weren't the type to follow business headlines or celebrity gossip, you could've easily missed it – especially if you weren't tuned in to Chicago happenings.
But forget the public.
Somewhere along the line, the thing with Delaney had gotten personal. Sure, I owed Ryder some info, but the truth was, I really did want some answers – and not only because I owed a friend a favor.
Mostly I wanted to help.
Why was Delaney broke? Why had she been acting so twitchy earlier today in the lobby? Why had she moved from her West Haven apartment without leaving a forwarding address?
Why had she been lugging a busted suitcase from who-knows-where? Where was her car?
She did have one. This, I knew, thanks to Cal.
But there was a lot I didn't know.
Still, it wasn't lost on me that I'd probably ruined her coffee by asking inconvenient questions.
Even so, she managed to laugh. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."
"Forget that," I teased. "You're killing me now."
She snorted. "Why? Because you're 'dying' to know?"
"Yup." As I said it, I was stunned to realize it was true. It wasn't only because I was curious. It was because I cared.
She sighed. "Well, I guess I do owe you, huh?" As she spoke, she lifted her latte in a mock toast, as if to remind both of us that I'd paid for the information.
It felt transactional, and I didn't like it. "You don't owe me anything. You do know that, right?"
"But that's not exactly true," she protested. "Right from the beginning, I should've at least paid for your shirt." She searched my face before asking, "Are you sure you want to hear this? I mean…I'm pretty sure I'll come across as a whiner."
"And I'm sure you won't."
"But…how can you be sure?"
I knew, because I'd seen her trudging along the sidewalk, dragging a busted suitcase. She hadn't even mentioned it.
For some reason, it made me think of Sloane. One time, she had nearly lost it because a bellhop had misplaced her luggage for twelve short minutes.
Yes. Twelve. I knew the exact number, because Sloane had been counting the minutes down – loudly – while complaining how hard it was to find good help.
To Delaney, I said, "And let's say you do whine. Maybe you've got a good reason."
"Maybe." She wrapped both hands tighter around her cup. "But don't say I didn't warn you."
I nodded. "Consider me warned."
"Okay…the reason I don't have any money – I'm assuming that's your biggest question – is because my mom sort of borrowed it."
What the hell?
I recalled what Cal had relayed about the mom. She'd already burned through her own fortune without saving any for her kids. And now, she was bleeding her daughter?
Carefully, I asked, "What do you mean borrowed?"
"The thing is…back when I was a kid, she started this bank account for me. You know how that works, right?"
I nodded.
Delaney hesitated. "And to be fair, for the first few years, most of the deposits came from her. Well…her and Dad, I mean."
I considered what I knew of the father. Unlike the mom, he hadn't come from money. But he'd done alright. These days, he made a respectable income teaching English Lit at a small, private university.
Delaney was still talking. "And like a total idiot, I didn't change accounts when I grew up. I didn't even think about it. I mean, it's not like she ever used it." Delaney's voice trailed off as she added, "Well…until now."
Something twisted in my gut. "So, what happened?"
"Okay…first, I should probably explain that I'm a writer." She hesitated. "Fiction."
I was intrigued. "What kind of fiction?"
Her cheeks flushed as she waved away the question. "Eh, it's not important."
I didn't agree. "It's not?"
"Not really," she said as if eager to move along. "And I write under a pen name. But I self-publish, and I do my own advertising. So basically, I publish a book and then advertise the heck out of it when I'm done."
I wanted to know more. "Advertise where?"
"It's not like I have billboards or anything. Mostly it's online. You know…like social media. But the point is, I have to pay for the advertising in advance, which is totally fine, because the royalties eventually pay for it."
It sounded like a hedge. "Eventually?"
"Usually. Unless the book is a flop. But either way, the royalties don't come in until a few months later."
I got what she meant. "So it's an issue of cashflow."
"Right. But everything's pretty automated." She gave a self-conscious laugh. "Well…other than the writing and ad design, obviously."
I almost smiled. "Obviously."
"And there are times – most of the time, actually, when I'm super-busy, especially when I'm writing. But once I finish a book and get my ads running, I have a little downtime, but—"
Abruptly, she stopped to study my face. "I'm not telling you more than you want to know, am I? I mean…it's probably pretty boring hearing all the nitty-gritty."
Not even close. "Trust me, I'm not bored." I meant it, too. I was a detail kind of guy. Plus, I was obscenely curious what kind of stories Delaney wrote. "Go on. I'm listening."
"So…I end up charging a lot of money on my credit card."
"How much is a lot?"
"Okay, maybe the amount isn't a lot to you. But last month, I spent almost nine thousand."
She was right. It wasn't a lot to me. But that didn't mean I wasn't impressed. "And you make that money back?"
"Well, that's the idea. And yeah, sometimes my credit card gets pretty close to being maxed, but then it's all paid off when the royalties roll in."
Already, I had a sickening feeling where this was going. "And this month?"
She grimaced. "Well, that's where it gets tricky."
"Tricky how?"
"So, yesterday morning, I think everything's humming along just fine, like it always does. Except it wasn't."
"Why not?"
"Because I'd scheduled a big credit card payment.
And honestly, this shouldn't have been a big deal.
" She glanced down at her cup and murmured, "I mean, the money was sitting right there in my bank account.
" She lifted the cup to her lips and took a lingering sip before saying in a rush, "But then, it suddenly wasn't."
My jaw flexed. "Because the money was borrowed."
"Right. But I didn't realize it at the time. So you can guess what happened next."
I could. And I didn't like it. "That credit card payment – it didn't go through."
"Yup." She winced. "And by then, the card's officially over the limit."
"How far over?"
"Enough so I had to pause all my ads, but this isn't even the worst of it."
"So what is?"
"My bank account. It's now at zero." She gave an unconvincing laugh. "Okay…less than zero, because the credit card thing wasn't the only payment I'd set up."
This was no laughing matter. "It wasn't?"
"No. I mean…I've got my phone bill, health insurance, and you know…other stuff. I can't remember the last time I used my actual checkbook." She scoffed. "And that's probably a good thing, because those checks would be bouncing like crazy."
"You never said…how much money did she borrow?" That last word – borrow – felt like broken glass in my throat, but getting pissed off would only make this worse.
For Delaney.
Not me.
She blew out a long, ragged breath before giving up the number. "Eight thousand."
Holy hell. "Are you serious?"
"Yup. But to be fair, she didn't empty the whole account."
What the fuck? "Fair?"
"Okay…it's awful…obviously. But when she withdrew the money, my account balance was a lot higher. Over sixteen grand."
I stared. "So?"
"So it's not like she knew she'd leave me broke."
I dragged a hand across my jaw, trying not to say what I was thinking.
Delaney shifted in her seat. "The real problem was my quarterly tax payments cleared the very next day, which wasn't anyone's fault. I'd set them up ages ago before I knew I'd be short."
What she meant was, before her mom stole eight grand like it was nothing.
And Delaney wasn't finished. "And between federal and state, those payments totaled even more than the eight thousand. It wasn't a lot more, but it still ate up my buffer zone."
The way it sounded, Delaney had done everything right. She'd planned ahead, set aside money for taxes, and scheduled her credit card payment to keep everything humming.
But then, her mom had derailed the whole system by helping herself to a few grand on the sly. The taxes cleared, but the credit card payment bounced, along with who-knows-what afterward.
I recalled her two examples.
Her cell phone bill.
Her health insurance.
What was she doing for grocery money?
Shit.
And here I thought my own family was fucked up.
At something in my expression, she said with a nervous laugh, "Hey, at least my car's paid off."
The Ford Focus. I knew why it was paid off. The car was so old, they didn't make them anymore. "And where is it?"
"My car?" She stalled with another sip of her drink. "It's um…not too far away."
Nice try. "Meaning here in the parking garage below us? Or somewhere in the city?"
In spite of my question, I knew her car wasn't in the building's garage. If it was, she wouldn't have been walking down the sidewalk dragging that suitcase. The way she'd looked, she'd been dragging it for a while.
She glanced away. "Oh, it's a garage…just not the one below us, that's all."
"So, where is it?" I persisted.
Was I being bossy? Hell, yeah. But there were places in the city where she'd need her own bodyguard to retrieve that car.
Wherever she'd left it, was the car still there?
When she said nothing, I told her, "We should go get it."
"Yeah…well…I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I took one of those little tickets when I parked it."
A time-stamped garage ticket? I didn't see the issue. "And?"
"And…the thing is…you have to pay when you leave."
Finally, the pieces clicked. "And you have no cash."
"Well, I did have cash," she said. "But then on my way into Chicago, I passed this roadside flower stand and decided to grab a little something for Tessa – you know, as a peace offering."
None of this was funny. And yet, I felt a smile tug at my mouth as I recalled the sight of Delaney holding that crazy flower pot in the lobby.
Now, come to find out, the potted flowers were a gift for the sister she hadn't spoken to in ages.
Silently, I started making a list.
Retrieve the car.
Settle things with the bank.
Make sure Delaney didn't go hungry.
I asked, "So, what'd your mom say about it?"
Delaney's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Did she explain? Apologize? Say what the money was for?"
This made Delaney laugh. But it wasn't the happy laugh I'd gotten used to.
I searched her face. "What's so funny?"
"I know what she spent the money on."
"What?"
"A trip to Paris."
I stared. "You're kidding."
"I wish." Delaney grimaced. "Apparently, she's shopping."
No fucking way. "And she actually told you that?"
"No. I found out through social media."
I was still staring. "But what'd she say when you talked to her?"
Delaney slumped back in her chair. "I didn't talk to her."
"Why not?" I tried to think. "Because she didn't answer the phone?"
"No." Her voice grew quiet. "Because I didn't even call."
Seriously? "You're joking, right?"
She sighed. "I know what you're thinking."
Doubtful. "And what's that?"
"That I'm a total pushover. But I'm really not." She let out a humorless laugh. "If you asked anyone, they'd tell you flat out, I'm the family trouble-maker."
I wasn't buying it. "I've gotta be honest here. I'm finding that hard to believe."
"Well, believe it," she said. "And my mom has the pictures to prove it."
I couldn't imagine. "Pictures of what?"
Delaney paused as if thinking. "Well…me covered in mud, for starters."
Yeah, right. I gave her a look. "Recently?"
"No," she said, as if my question were ridiculous. "Maybe twenty years ago."
It was pretty much what I'd expected. "So you were branded the family trouble-maker in what? Grade school?"
"I guess. But if you spent any time with us, you'd totally understand."
Maybe. Maybe not. I just waited.
Sounding resigned, she continued. "For starters, I'm nothing like my older sister.
She's absolutely perfect." Delaney started counting off on her fingers.
"Utterly gorgeous, a terrific student, perfectly polite, and good at literally everything.
" Delaney tried for another smile. "My mom calls her the golden girl. "
The mom was obviously crazy.
I'd seen the sister – not in person, but on video. She hadn't looked so golden to me.
Now, smiling or not, I could see the hurt in Delaney's eyes, and I fought a sudden urge to circle the table and gather her in my arms. Quietly, I asked, "And what does she call you?"
"Nothing now. We haven't talked in months. But that was my doing, not hers."
I didn't bother asking Delaney why. The reason for their estrangement was obvious. The mom was a real piece of work. And this was putting it mildly.
And now, Delaney was saying, "These days, even I call Tessa the golden girl." She gave a listless shrug. "I mean…if the name fits."
By now, I was so pissed, I could hardly speak. With an effort, I tamped it down and met Delaney's eyes. "Forget your sister," I said. "Let's talk about you."