Chapter 18 Georgie
Georgie
I’m lying in bed, only half-awake, when I hear the soft beeps of the house alarm being deactivated. My heart leaps, and I’m out of bed in an instant, excitement buzzing through me. Maybe James came home early. Maybe the drummer he’s filling in for finally kicked that flu.
No matter how many times I remind myself that everything between James and me is fake, I can’t stop myself from missing him.
The devil on my shoulder teases me; it didn’t feel fake when he had his fingers inside your vagina. But I’ve been trying not to dwell on that since James and I never had the opportunity to talk about it before he left on tour.
I tug on the robe I found in James’s closet a few weeks ago—and immediately claimed as my own—and follow the sounds through the quiet house. They lead me to his office, where someone is rifling through the desk drawers.
And just like that, my hope evaporates when I see who it is.
“Find what you’re looking for?” I drawl, crossing my arms over my chest and resting my hip against the doorframe.
Josh’s head shoots up. At least he has the decency to look a little embarrassed at having been caught snooping. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He doesn’t sound sorry.
“What are you looking for,” my eyes dart to the clock on the wall, “at seven twenty in the morning?”
“James’ life insurance paperwork.”
“Oh.” I have nothing to say about that because I didn’t even know he had a life insurance policy. It makes sense that James would have one, given his wealth, but it seems like a weird thing for Josh to be digging around for first thing in the morning. “Why?”
Josh stands, stony faced. With his hands on his hips, contempt and condescension drip from his voice. “Why do you think, Georgie?”
A scary thought occurs to me. “Did something happen to James? Is he okay?” Fear grips my chest. Is Josh looking for James’ life insurance policy because he was injured… or worse?
“Oh, drop the act already! James isn’t here. You don’t have to keep pretending around me. I know exactly who you are… a manipulative bitch using James for his money.”
My first instinct is to cower in the face of conflict, but I remind myself that Josh isn’t Nolan. I take a deep breath and press onward. “Look, just tell me James is alright, and I’ll go. I’ll leave you alone.”
“He’s fine,” Josh grumbles, turning his back to me as he attacks the file cabinet in the corner of the room.
A sigh of relief leaves my mouth. James is fine.
James is fine.
But it doesn’t answer my question. Why is Josh poking around for James’ life insurance policy like a sneaky bear?
Since Josh held up his end of the bargain, I hold up mine and leave the room. Heading to the kitchen, I put a pot of coffee on to brew.
Last night was a good one. Weston slept for over five straight hours. I know it was a fluke and probably won’t be repeated anytime soon, but it leaves me feeling rejuvenated and refreshed… and ready to tackle a task I’ve been putting off.
After pouring myself a cup of coffee, I bring one to Josh, too. He might be acting like an ass, but I don’t need to stoop to his level. Without saying a word, I set the cup down and retreat from the room.
If I’m quick about it, I should be able to squeeze in a shower before Westie Bestie wakes up demanding his second breakfast. Hurrying through my routine, I’m able to shower, shave, and blow-dry my hair.
After feeding and getting Weston changed, I put him on his playmat for tummy time while I apply a bit of makeup.
Leaving him alone for a minute, I dart into the other guest room and rummage through my boxes until I find a casual dress that doesn’t look too wrinkly.
Returning to the nursery, I slip on the dress and squirt on a little perfume spray.
It feels nice to wear something other than a T-shirt covered in spit-up and dried milk.
Then, I go in search of Josh to ask him for a favor.
Knocking softly on the open office door, I step into the room with a tight smile. “Would you be able to watch Weston for me, please? Just for an hour. Two tops.”
Josh leans back in the leather desk chair, studying me with critical eyes. “Why? Where do you need to go?”
“Why were you looking for James’ life insurance policy?”
“Why won’t you answer my question?”
“Why won’t you answer mine?”
Josh groans in annoyance. “Fine, but only for an hour.” With a smile, he holds out his hands to take Weston from me. The smile isn’t for me; it’s for my son. Josh may dislike me, but he has a soft spot for Weston, which is the only reason I feel comfortable leaving Weston with him.
“May I speak to the manager?” I ask the waitress who’s manning the cash register behind the diner’s long counter.
The waitress knits her brows together. “Are you here for a job or to complain about something?”
I smile at her frankness. “A job. Hopefully, anyway. If the manager doesn’t hire me, then I reserve the right to complain later.”
The waitress returns my smile. “Well, in that case, I’m the manager.” She points to the nametag pinned to her pink uniform. “Sheila.”
“Hi, Sheila. I’m Georgie.”
Sheila glances around the restaurant before motioning toward the row of booths that line the front windows of the restaurant. It’s still early enough so the breakfast folks have come and gone, but the brunch crowd hasn’t hit yet. “Take a seat, hon. I’ll grab an application and meet you over there.”
This gives me a minute to myself to look around Deb’s Diner.
It’s the sixth restaurant I’ve visited this morning, and I’m hoping my luck will turn.
The first two weren’t hiring, and the next three gave me applications to fill out and return later.
But as soon as I saw the black and orange help wanted sign taped in the window of Deb’s, I turned the car around.
With two and a half months left before I need to move out, it’s time for me to get a job.
During Weston’s naps yesterday, I spent hours researching restaurants near James’s house so I could apply for waitressing positions.
I’d been targeting nicer establishments, figuring the tips would be better, but let’s face it—Deb’s Diner, with its retro 1950s pink-and-teal décor and chipped black-and-white checkerboard floor, is a better fit for me than some snooty, highfalutin fine-dining restaurant.
Middle-aged and pretty, Sheila slides onto the bench across from me and pushes a piece of paper and a pen to me. “Here’s the employment application. You can fill it out while we talk.”
“Alright.” My smile is a little forced; I hadn’t anticipated she’d interview me on the spot, but I keep going and hope for the best.
The application is standard and simple, so it takes me only a few minutes to fill out the required information. Sheila scans it and then zeros in on what I had hoped she wouldn’t notice. “You’ve had a lot of restaurant experience, but you haven’t worked in over three months. Why the break?”
I really don’t want to disclose that I have a newborn because I don’t want that to be the reason someone else gets hired instead of me. “I took some time off to… travel.”
Sheila squints, throwing me a disbelieving glance. “Travel?”
Damn, that wasn’t the best lie. Looking at me, she can probably tell I’m not the kind of person who can afford to take months off to travel.
As I fiddle with the ring on my finger, a new idea hits me.
I lift my left hand and say, “Well, it was more of a prolonged honeymoon. And then it took a bit of time to move from Alabama and get settled here in Nashville.”
That lie passes Sheila’s bullshit-meter, and she moves on to asking me more about my restaurant experience before describing the hours and schedule I’d need to keep if hired. After a few more minutes of chatting, Sheila says goodbye, telling me she’ll call me in a few days if I get the job.
I cross my fingers and send up a little prayer that Sheila calls me with good news soon because my bank account is nearing double digits, and I’m freaking out.
When I glance at the clock on the Tahoe’s dashboard, I realize I went over the one-hour timeline Josh gave me, so I zip home and pull the big car into the garage.
After dropping my job applications on the kitchen counter, I hustle through the house in search of Josh and Weston, and I find them in the nursery.
Though I can’t hear what he’s saying, I can decipher the friendly cadence of Josh’s voice as he interacts with my son.
As I peek into the room, I spy Josh lying on the floor on his stomach next to Weston, reading him a book as Weston lies on his playmat, kicking his legs.
“Hey, I’m back. Sorry, I’m a little late.”
Josh rolls over and sits up before picking Weston up. Standing, Josh brings Weston to me and says, his voice cold, “Some of your packages arrived while you were gone.”
“Packages?” I ask, my nose wrinkling in confusion.
Josh rolls his eyes before leaving without so much as a goodbye.
As I follow him out, I notice the packages in the foyer. There are several bags of groceries and three cardboard boxes of various sizes. One box is small, another is medium-sized, and the last one… is huge.
What the hell?
Maybe they’re something James ordered. But when I check the names on the packages, they’re all addressed to me.
After putting away the groceries, I drag the baby swing into the foyer from the kitchen and clip Weston into it.
I decide to open the packages in size order, from smallest to largest. Ripping open the small one, I find a brand-new iPhone, along with a gift receipt.
Georgie,
I expect new photos and videos of Weston every day that I’m gone.
James
My lips curve up. Normally, I’d never accept a gift as expensive as this, but being able to take photos and videos of Weston’s early life is a gift I won’t decline.
Also, a new phone number seems like the best path forward. It symbolizes leaving Nolan in the past and severing the final tie connecting me to my mother.
Slicing open the next box, I pull out something about the size of a laptop. It’s wrapped in layers of bubble wrap, and when I cut it away, I find a large framed photo of the three of us—James, Weston, and me. It’s our very first picture together.
It wasn’t taken that long ago, but it feels like a lifetime since we were those polite strangers smiling in a hospital room.
My finger drifts over Weston’s tiny face, barely visible beneath the blankets covering him.
But what really steals my breath is my own expression.
I’m not looking at the camera. My gaze is fixed entirely on the man standing beside me.
God, it’s so obvious, even from the beginning, that I was fighting feelings for him.
Like with the phone, there’s also a gift receipt with a message from James.
Georgie,
Find a place in the living room to hang this. It’s become my favorite photo.
James
When I slice open the last box, I start to laugh.
James overnighted a new striped armchair for the living room. One that isn’t stained with shit.
Georgie,
Consider the shit exorcism complete.
James