Liz had never actually met Ethan’s father, but she heard him speak once, at a fundraiser to refurbish the city park. He’d been stern, but eloquent as he talked about duty and responsibility and how as citizens of the town, everyone had to participate and give of themselves. She’d been drawn to the man and intimidated. After seeing him, she knew why Ethan didn’t want anyone to know they were involved. Ralph Hendrix wouldn’t have approved.
Then Josh had mentioned seeing the two of them together and another friend had called her a whore. Ethan had not only denied they were dating, he’d said he wasn’t so desperate as to need to be with someone like her.
Pouring a milk shake over his head and walking out hadn’t healed the wound in her heart.
She didn’t want to remember any of this, Liz thought grimly. She didn’t want to be here, dealing with her past. The people, the memories, her complete inability to feel as if she’d made progress emotionally were just a few of the reasons she’d never wanted to come back.
“Your relationship with Ethan doesn’t matter,” she stated, turning away from Pia. “My point is, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about when it comes to my son, and you need to remember that.”
“I’m sorry.”
Liz nodded.
“I mean that. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Liz declared facing her again, trying not to see the regret in Pia’s eyes.
Pia opened her mouth, then closed it. “I really am sorry,” she whispered, then walked out of the kitchen, leaving Liz alone.
If the buzzing in Liz’s head wasn’t enough to tell her that she wasn’t going to have a good time come morning, the tightness in her chest hinted that a hangover might very well be the least of her problems.
Damn this town, she thought as she grabbed the cookies and braced herself to return to the party.
LIZ WOKE UP WITH A MILDER headache than she deserved and a determination to put together a plan to get out of Fool’s Gold as quickly as possible. The house was the biggest problem. What to do with it. Keeping it for the girls was a possibility. As a rental, it could provide income and the value would increase over time. Although that would require fixing up the place. Selling it presented the same fix-up dilemma. Maybe the best place to start was to speak with a Realtor. Get some actual numbers and see what made the most sense.
As much as she wanted to pack her car and run, she knew she couldn’t. There were Roy’s girls to think of. Melissa and Abby wouldn’t want to move. They’d already lost their dad and stepmom. Their home was all they had.
But she couldn’t stay here, she thought, feeling desperate. It was a twisted kind of hell for her. Which meant what? Endure the town as long as she could and give the girls more time to adjust to her and moving?
Not a decision she could make without a second cup of coffee.
She made her way to the kitchen. Melissa was on the phone with one of her friends and Abby had gone next door to play. Tyler was with his father. She got out the phone book and called a couple real estate offices from her cell.
An hour later, she’d confirmed what she’d already guessed. No one would commit without seeing the house in person, but the consensus was for rental property and fixing up was required. A sale could be “as is” but that seriously cut down on the number of interested buyers as well as the price.
Liz had a feeling the house was all the girls could expect to get from their father. Her gut said that fixing it up and then renting it made the most sense. Let the property value increase while Melissa and Abby were growing. If they wanted to sell it later, they could. She could even pay for the renovations herself.
She got out a pad of paper and started making a list. She would have to get an attorney to draw up a title transfer. Roy had said he wanted to put the house in the girls’ names. Fortunately, Bettina wasn’t on the title, so she wasn’t going to be a complication.
Liz wandered back into the kitchen for more coffee, then headed for her computer. Maybe she could get in a couple of pages before Abby and Tyler returned.
Her timing was off. She’d barely clicked on her word processing program when her son flew into the house. He bounced onto the sofa next to her, then threw his arms around her.
“How are you?” she asked, hugging him back and kissing his forehead.
“Good. Dad had doughnuts and he only let me eat two. And I saw the new designs for a windmill. Dad says it’s going to be more energy efficient. And he really liked the card I gave him.”
Tyler continued to relive his morning in real time. Nearly every other sentence began with “Dad says.” Liz told herself this was all good news, even as she felt a little less important in her son’s life.
A fleeting emotion, she told herself. One that would pass.
“Then Dad said it was your fault that I don’t know him because you kept me from him. Dad says you were wrong not to let us be together.”
Liz nearly fell out of her chair. “Excuse me?” she asked.