Chapter 26 #2
Tim nodded and scribbled a note. “What do you know about him?”
“He’s from Seattle, his parents got divorced when he was ten, he studied math and engineering—”
Tim held up a hand to stop me. “How about we focus on anything that you could use to track him down,” he suggested. “Have you googled him? Is he on social media?”
My nod morphed into a slow headshake. “Before I agreed to go out with him, I found his LinkedIn profile and a picture of him on a NASA website.”
“That’s a good start,” Tim said.
“Yeah, except after my mother-in-law told me she paid for an online background search and came up empty, I looked again and all of it was gone.”
“Gone?” His eyes popped.
“I’m afraid so. On the bright side, I still have hundreds of texts he sent me.” I waved my phone.
“But they were sent from a burner app.” Tim made another note. “Did you ever go to his house? Meet any of his friends? Take any photos of him?”
“No,” I said, feeling chagrined. “We did have a long date at a Barnes & Noble, and I called to see if I could get security footage. They said I’d need a subpoena. Would that be hard to do?”
“Without filing a lawsuit first? Yes. Very hard. Not to mention expensive.” Tim frowned. “Did he meet any of your friends or acquaintances? People who could vouch for you?”
“I’m afraid not,” I said, examining my hands.
Then I looked up. And let’s just say my new lawyer did not have a great poker face and it seemed like he’d decided the hand he held was not a winner.
“I know this doesn’t sound great, but you have to believe me.
He may be a jerk, but I’m pretty sure he’s a legit astronaut.
” When he didn’t answer right away, I quickly amended, “I’m not that gullible.
” If I couldn’t convince my lawyer I wasn’t an easy mark, then what hope did I have with Rebecca and William? Or a court?
Tim leaned back in his chair. “It’s not my job to believe you, Thea, but if things come to pass, it would be my job to defend you.
Based on this initial consult, my fear is that you could come off in court as .
. . what’s that term for when a reader isn’t certain the narrator is telling you everything? ”
“An unreliable narrator,” I said flatly. “You think I’m an unreliable narrator.” Am I?
“Here’s the problem as I see it. We have to consider the possibility that this guy will either be untraceable or will turn out to be someone other than who you believed him to be.
Neither of these outcomes would be particularly good for your case.
If we learn he is, in fact, a con artist or stalker or some other bad actor, that would give your in-laws’ case more teeth, as their goal seems to be the safety of their granddaughter—your daughter,” he said, editing himself in real time.
“In that situation, we’d be left to prove that there was no way you could have reasonably known and that, therefore, even if Lucy had been endangered, you would not be culpable. ”
“But what about all those texts we exchanged? Even if they’re from a burner, they’re still evidence that it was reasonable for me to believe his story, right?”
“Maybe,” he said. “But there’s an even more worrisome scenario.
I googled you this morning and read an article suggesting you might believe that what you write comes true.
” He twirled his fountain pen. “So, given the subject matter of your new novel, I have to ask: Do you believe that you manifested a real-life astronaut through your fictional writing?”
I forced a shaky breath. “Well, when I first met him, the coincidence did seem a bit inexplicable. Almost magical, if you will. Not only did he remind me of my late husband, who my fictional astronaut was based on, but he was also an actual astronaut. So yes, I may have briefly entertained the idea that I had written him into my life. But as I got to know him, that feeling faded, and I was mostly left with gratitude for the possibility I was receiving a second chance at love, no matter how it came about.”
“Is there anything else I should know?” Tim asked, his expression unreadable. “Anything else your in-laws might bring up that could be used against you?”
I bit my lip. “Well, I may have quipped that I’d manifested being a New York Times bestseller by writing that into my protagonist’s story. But I was totally kidding. Well, mostly.”
“I see,” he said, nodding slowly.
“So what do you advise I do from here?” I pulled out a pen and notebook from my tote.
I looked down at the inspirational Henry David Thoreau phrase on the notebook cover: Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined.
I quickly flipped it open to a blank page, hoping he wasn’t skilled at reading upside down.
Tim set down his pen and ran a hand through his hair before answering. “We could hire a private investigator to try to track down the astronaut. That’s probably our best first step. It might also help put to rest some of the online speculation about you making him up to boost your book sales.”
My face grew hot at the mention of the vicious online rumors.
“Wow, you went deep with your research.” Scenes of Tim and his colleagues poring over the Reddit posts, laughing about the batshit-crazy new client, flooded my thoughts.
But at least he was offering me a lifeline. “A PI is a great idea, though.”
“Terrific. I have two guys in mind. I’ll check in with them to see who’s available. I’ll shoot you an email with the contact info,” Tim said. “It might take a few days.”
“That sounds great,” I said. “Thank you so much. It feels good to have a plan.”
“Thea, you really should do everything you can to avoid going to court. You don’t want to risk putting your family, especially your daughter, through a guardianship fight.
You’re obviously a caring and capable mother, but once the courts are involved, things can get unpredictable.
And frankly, some of your on-the-record musings could be problematic.
A PI will hopefully help us find the astronaut and get some answers, but my best advice is to try to de-escalate the situation.
It seems like if you engaged a therapist, that would go a long way. Would that really be the worst thing?”
To me it would be, but the reasons why were none of his business. And also, with his billable rate, any attempt to explain would land me in bankruptcy.
Instead, I thanked him and went in search of a bakery for a thank-you gift for Noah and his kids.
When Noah opened the door, his eyes immediately lit on the pink pastry box I was holding from The Best Bakery Ever. It was such an audacious company name that I was hoping he’d invite me to join them so I could see if the cupcakes lived up to their lofty billing.
“By all means, please come on in,” Noah said, taking the box from my outstretched hands. “Do you have time for coffee and . . .” He raised his eyebrows.
Score! “A vast assortment of mini cupcakes, as I had no idea of anyone’s favorite flavors,” I said, sneaking a glance around the apartment. It was the same layout and similar decor as mine, down to the drawings on the fridge and colorful bins overflowing with toys.
“When it comes to baked goods, we are not picky, but in my humble opinion, the classic vanilla with chocolate buttercream frosting is the superior combo,” Noah said, giving me a platonic wink.
I let out a genuine laugh, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, my shoulders separated from my earlobes.
“I could not agree with you more.” I plopped down on a brown faux-leather stool, which looked exactly like the ones I had, while Noah gave me the download on the morning as he plated the cupcakes and made a pot of coffee.
Leaning back against the counter while we waited for the coffee to brew, Noah folded his arms and said, “The kids were having so much fun playing together that I think they forgot I was here, because at one point they were all under the blanket fort and I overheard such a strange, yet oddly comforting, exchange. Pen told Lucy that her mommy died from breast cancer three years ago and she barely remembers her. And then Lucy told Pen that it was OK because her daddy got hit by a car and died before she was born, and looking at pictures of him makes her feel like he’s here sometimes. I’m so incredibly sorry for your loss.”
“That was a lot for a first playdate,” I said, trying to lighten the mood, “but thank you. And I’m sorry for your loss, too. Your kids were so young.”
Nodding grimly, Noah said, “My wife was diagnosed soon after Pax was born. He has no memory of her, and Pen rarely talks about her.” He gave me a wistful shrug. “But life goes on, right?”
“Somehow it does,” I agreed.
Noah took down two matching navy mugs. As he poured the coffee, he said, “Hey, um, can I ask you something about Frannie?”
A zing of electricity shot through me. “Sure,” I said, playing it cool.
“I run into her nearly every day in the mail room or the gym, and I feel like we’re having these borderline flirty chats, but I can’t get a read on her.
Anytime I ask her a question that even nibbles around the edges of something personal, she sidesteps it or turns the question back on me,” he said with a wry grin. “Is she seeing anyone?”
“That’s classic Frannie.” I smirked. “But to answer your question: No, she’s not seeing anyone.
She tends to shy away from guys with kids, though, because she had a pretty rough stepmother experience growing up.
But you should see her with Lucy, she’s amazing.
A natural. She’ll be an awesome mom someday.
She’s brilliant, and funny, and loyal, and spontaneous in the best way.
” I stopped. I couldn’t believe I’d said all that.
Out loud. “And if you ever tell her I said a word of that, I will personally see to it that there’s never another vanilla-with-chocolate-buttercream cupcake available for purchase in the greater LA area.
But also, you should definitely ask her out. ”
His deep laugh rang out through the apartment, seemingly teleporting the three kids to our sides. “Ask who out?” Lucy said, and then Pax screamed, “Cupcakes!” and Lucy promptly forgot the conversation she’d walked in on.
Later that afternoon, after a yummy grilled cheese and tomato soup lunch, delicious cupcakes, and a massive pillow fight, Lucy and I returned home, both of us buzzing with excitement about our new friends.
The minute the elevator door closed, I texted Frannie: You were right.
Hot ER Doc is the bomb! Also, he’s going to ask you out and if you don’t say yes I’ll be coming for you!