Chapter Twenty-Five Townsend
Chapter Twenty-Five
Townsend
At Foothill Grille, the hostess leads him to Mother’s usual table, the same one she requested for his thirty-fourth birthday brunch. He finds her drinking a Tito’s greyhound, the Greek salad she’d ordered untouched.
“Mom.” He kisses her lightly on the cheek, which feels powdery and dry. “You’re looking well.”
Mother waves his compliment off and takes a sip of her drink. “You want something. That’s the only reason I hear from you. So what is it?”
It stings, hearing this from his mom. Not because it’s not true, but because he thought himself more artful than that. “I want to ask about Grandma Birdy’s ring. Her engagement ring.”
“Oh?”
“I want to know if I can have it.”
“And what are you going to do with it?”
Townsend grits his teeth. “I want to give it to Talia, Mom. I’m going to propose to her.”
“Did it occur to you that your sister might want Birdy’s ring?”
“I already talked to Blake. She doesn’t want it. She said she hates a marquise cut.”
Drawing her lips into a thin line, Mother says, “What a shame. I was hoping the ring would stay in the family.”
“It’s going to stay in the family.”
“Townsend, sweetheart.” Mother gives a withering smile. “That woman is not family.”
Townsend feels a sudden urge to overturn the table, run out of the restaurant, drive his car into the pool. He looks around for a waiter he can flag down instead. A drink will calm his nerves. “Okay, well, maybe not yet. But she will be after I ask her to marry me.”
“No, dear. She won’t.”
A server finally appears. Townsend orders a glass of top-shelf Macallan as a satisfying sort of “fuck you” to his mom, who will later have to foot the bill. He’s ready for a fight. “Can you just tell me what your problem is with her?”
“I don’t have a problem with her.”
“You clearly do.”
“I don’t. Really.” Mother shrugs. “I just think marrying her would be a mistake.”
“Which would imply you have a problem.”
“It’s just . . .” Mother purses her lips, looking regretful for ever having agreed to meet Townsend here. “Like I said before, she comes from a different—”
“A different world, I know,” he finishes for her.
A beat of silence follows; Mother seems to be deciding whether to confess something. Honesty wins out. “I’m having her followed.”
“You’re what?”
“I hired someone to follow her. A private investigator.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?”
His mom glares at him; the waiter has just arrived with his drink and no doubt heard Townsend’s expletive.
“Pardon my language,” he mutters to them both.
Once the waiter has shuffled off, Mother clears her throat. “Like I told you, I do not trust her. I feel like she’s hiding something. And so I decided to have someone look into her.”
“Is this what Carter Bonier was talking about when he told me he had a name for you?”
Mother’s brow twitches; her Botox must prevent her from being able to properly arch it. “When did you speak to Carter?”
No way is Townsend getting into his legal troubles now, especially since (as far as he knows) he has no troubles.
He sent Sage Clinic the falsified documents.
He heard nothing but “thank you” in return—and so far, he’s heard nothing from Amanda either.
While his ex continues to harass his girlfriend, Amanda seems content to leave him be, though the fact remains that she knows more than she should.
Perhaps he should give that private investigator a call himself.
He ignores Mother’s question, instead telling her, “This is insane, Mom. Seriously.” He pauses to take a swig of his whisky, and then adds, “Did you even find anything?” A tiny bit of curiosity edges into his voice; he hopes his mom doesn’t hear it.
“It’s just . . .”
Clearly Mother is dying to share something. “What?”
“She is perhaps a little more . . . fragile than you may realize.”
“What do you mean by ‘fragile’?”
His mom runs a polished nail around the edge of her glass. She’s loving his eagerness. “How much has she told you about her life before moving here?”
“I mean, I know where she’s from. I know where she went to college. What else is there to know?”
“Do you know that her real name is Natalia?”
Townsend did not know this. “Plenty of people use nicknames.”
“Do plenty of people change their legal name to their nickname right before moving out of the state?” His mom smirks, as though this is some kind of smoking gun. “And did you know about her sister?”
Townsend feels a surge of smug satisfaction. “Yes, as matter of fact, I did know. Are you trying to suggest that having a sister who got pregnant out of wedlock makes Talia unmarriable?”
At this, Mother’s smirk disappears. Apparently, her PI had failed to turn up this particular detail; he must have found some other bit of unsavory info about Talia’s sister that Mother hoped to use as ammo instead.
“That’s not—”
“Look,” he says, “you don’t have to give me Birdy’s ring, but I’m going to propose to Talia, whether I have your blessing or not.” It occurs to him, a moment too late, that he can’t possibly afford a decent ring on his own right now. But there’s no taking his words back.
Mother sniffs, her expression suddenly more hurt than annoyed. “It’s your funeral.”
That’s all he needs to hear. Pushing back from the table, Townsend stands. “I need some air.”
Out in the parking lot, Townsend paces, mind racing.
Maybe he should have heard his mom out. What could be so damning that she’d try to prevent her only son from finally settling down, as she’d been begging him to do for the past decade?
Was there even anything she could tell him that would change his mind about Talia? And did Talia really change her name?
He’s about to return inside—maybe try to convince Mother one more time to let him have Birdy’s ring—when the sound of shattering glass rings out like a shot.
A deafening howl follows: a car alarm. No, not just a car alarm; his alarm.
Someone is breaking into his car, and he would bet anything that it’s Amanda.
As he’s weaving through cars, making his way toward his roadster, Townsend can think of little else; he’s already picturing the damage his beloved car may have incurred.
That’s probably why he runs headlong into another body—though when he steps back to apologize, he doesn’t see some random country-club guest. He sees his girlfriend, who looks just as stunned to see him.
“Tal, what are you doing here?”
She furrows her brows, confused. “You told me you were having dinner with your mom here. I was waiting in the parking lot for you to be done.”
Townsend doesn’t remember making this plan, but his mind is too jumbled to question it. “Well, I’m pretty sure that’s my car alarm going off. And I’m pretty sure Amanda is responsible.”
Together, they beeline for his car, which he can see—even from a distance—is fucked. Shards of glass decorate the pavement around what used to be his back window, which is now just a gaping void. “Jesus,” he mutters.
Talia points through the jagged opening. “What is that in there?”
“Probably whatever was lobbed through my fucking window.” Townsend is about to open the side door to investigate when Talia reaches right through the broken glass. “Tal, be careful.”
“I am.” When she straightens up, he sees that she now has a brick in hand. She holds it up to examine—impressively, she can hold it in one hand without her arm even shaking—which is when he notices something written on its surface in white paint.
Townsend takes the brick from Talia’s hand and holds it close enough to read in the dim light of the parking lot. “‘Thief,’” he reads.
“What does that mean?” He can hear in her voice that she’s reluctant—maybe even afraid—to hear the answer.
“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. Is it possible Amanda knows that AutoInTune isn’t entirely his own creation?
The thought unnerves Townsend; the last thing he needs is for Amanda to have more dirt.
Looking up from the brick, he notices the trail of blood dripping from Talia’s elbow down to her wrist. “Are you okay, babe? You’re bleeding. ”
“It’s okay.” Without even looking at her elbow, Talia wipes it on her shirt. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“Still, we should get that cleaned out.” He pulls out his phone. “I’m going to get my car towed, and then I’ll drive yours back to my place, okay?”
“What about your mom?”
“I’ll let her know I’m heading out. This is more important.”
Talia flashes a sweet, grateful smile, and Townsend feels relief over never having learned whatever Mother was trying to tell him earlier.
The Talia he knows and loves—his future wife!—is right here in front of him, and whatever happened before him doesn’t matter.