Ask Me Why Page 2

  The older woman studies me with a wary squint. “You might not, but his father will.”

  “And that makes you his…” I let my words trail off, hoping she’ll fill in the blank.

  “Nanny, yes. Although I prefer honorary grandmother. Lord knows the poor child doesn’t have any biological ones to rely on. But that’s a tale for a different day. I’m Mary, and that little rascal”—she points to the boy beside me—“is Oliver.”

  “But you can call me Ollie.” He grins up at me, the joy reappearing in his expression.

  “Nice to meet you both. My name is Braelyn, and you’re in Thicket.” I motion around the space with a limp flourish.

  Mary takes a cursory glance around. “It’s charming. There’s much to see.”

  I dip my chin under her watchful eye. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “Have you been here long?”

  “About two years.”

  Mary nods. “We’ve never ventured along this street before. But I’m sure Ollie will never forget now that we’ve found this place.”

  I feel a tug on my shirt and look down. Ollie’s smile hasn’t dimmed since being rejuvenated. I find myself grinning back.

  “Will you show me where the candy is now?” he asks.

  I point behind me, to the row of tubs under the window. “Do you like taffy?”

  Ollie’s expression morphs into sheer wonder. “The super-chewy stuff?”

  “Yes, I have a bunch of different flavors.”

  He dashes toward the bins. “What’s your favorite?”

  “The rainbow swirl,” I whisper.

  Ollie lowers his face closer to the sugary treats. “What do they taste like?”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “Happiness.”

  His button nose wrinkles. “That’s a weird flavor.”

  I pluck one from the bunch and pass it over. “Try it and see.”

  He unwraps the colorful roll and pops it into his mouth. Ollie chews loudly, his eyes sparkling bright. “Urm me gesh, whish ish so gerd.”

  I laugh at his jargon. “You like it?”

  “So good,” he mumbles.

  I tug a paper sack out of the slot and scoop in a hefty amount. This should keep him occupied for at least ten minutes. I grin at that, picturing him gladly munching away. I want to bottle a sip of his energy and drink it later when the blues return.

  I glance at him, finding him watching my every move. “This loot is for you. On the house.”

  Ollie’s lips twist in a ridiculous way. “What’s that mean?”

  “I’m giving it to you,” I explain. “For free.”

  Mary strides over. “You don’t have to do that. We can pay.”

  I wave her off. “It’s my pleasure. This little tyke has brightened my day.”

  “I have?” Ollie squeaks.

  “Absolutely,” I confirm.

  He makes grabby-hands at the bag. I hold it up and out of reach. “I don’t want to spoil your dinner.”

  Ollie pouts, his lower lip trembling slightly. Wow, he’s good. My resistance is no match for this kid.

  I pass the candy to Mary, giving her control. She mouths a silent thank you and beckons to Ollie. “We should get going. Your dad will be home soon.”

  At the mention of his father, he begins hopping in place. “Oh, I hope he brings me a surprise.”

  Mary raises a brow at him. “Isn’t this enough?” She shakes the taffy all about.

  Ollie seems to ponder that. “I guess.” His gaze swings to me. “Can I come back, Miss Braelyn?”

  The urgency in his tone takes me by surprise. “Of course, Ollie. You’re always welcome here.”

  “Maybe tomorrow?”

  There’s no denying him. “I’d really like that.”

  His grin is huge and honest. “Me too. I can’t wait.”

  As I watch them walk out the door, the storm clouds threaten to roll in. An unexpected wave crashes over me, but I’m not drowning in it today. No, I’m soaring above the violent sea.

  Without realizing it, this taffy-loving kiddo gave me a reason to smile.

  Brance

  Debrief

  A loud knock interrupts my intense focus on the deposition laid out in front of me. Dammit, I was finally making a dent on this shitty file. I lift my eyes and find my assistant fidgeting just outside the doorway. When she remains silent, my irritation spikes another notch.

  “Yes?” My voice is a harsh lash across the distance between us.

  She’s wringing her hands so tight that the knuckles are white. “Uh, um—”

  “Spit it out, Kathy. We don’t have all day.”

  She sighs, and the weight on her shoulders deflates. What a fucking mouse. “Missus Kleinston is here for her appointment.”

  I glare at my watch. “She’s over an hour late.”

  “Should I send her away?” Kathy’s face loses more color, as if the thought alone is terrifying. I imagine the conflict she was battling on whether or not to alert me almost caused her an ulcer. But she doesn’t complain and does a decent enough job. Good help can be hard to find.

  I glance at the stack of papers in front of me, a fight of my own beginning to brew. But at the rate Missus Kleinston is paying me, I can’t afford to lose her business. I swallow down the knee-jerk response and check my temper.

  “Give me five minutes. Then bring her in,” I mutter.

  “Yes, sir.” Kathy scurries off with fire licking her heels.

  I pick up my phone and stab at the number pad, dialing Mary’s cell. She answers after one ring.

  “Hello, Brance. On the way?” Her chirp is crisp as usual.

  I blow out a heavy breath. “Unfortunately, no. Would you mind watching Ollie for a bit longer? A client just showed up, and I’ve been waiting to meet with her.”

  “That’s no trouble. He’s quite entertained at the moment.”

  “With what?” I squeeze my eyes shut and picture his smile. My son is the only reason I haven’t turned to solid rock by this point. His bright presence keeps me grounded, a reminder there’s more to this shallow existence. He’s proof that I can do something right. Well, other than win a shitload of cases.

  “We found a new shop in Bebliff. They have a generous assortment of candy. Ollie especially loves the taffy,” Mary explains.

  “Does he now?” I almost laugh. That boy could eat his weight in sugar and go back for seconds.

  “Oh yes. And the owner is a delight. I think he’s quite taken with her. She’s very lovely.” Mary hums her approval.

  “Just great,” I grumble. A crush is the last thing Ollie needs. I scrub my forehead and groan. My son’s standards are stupid low when it comes to women. He will deem anyone with a pulse fit to fill the role of mommy dearest. All I need is another gold digger sinking in her claws where they don’t belong. His desperation for approval is sadly maddening. I hope that bitch who birthed him is real fucking proud of the mess she made.

  Mary huffs down the line. “Don’t be a grouch. Not every woman is like your mother. Or her.” The emphasis she places on that last word makes my skin crawl.

  “Not sure what either of them have to do with this.” It’s eerie as fuck how well she reads me, even over the phone.

  “You’re assuming the worst of the girl we met today. All I had to do was mention that Ollie liked her.”

  “Didn’t say anything of the sort,” I mutter.

  “You don’t have to. I know how you feel about this subject.”

  My exhale is loud. “I find no worth granting them a chance to prove me right. It’s safer to assume they’re all out for the same thing.”

  “And why is that, Brance? You’ll never be happy this way.”

  I bite back my scoff. “Do you hear me complaining?”

  “I worry about you, dear.” Her tone is placating and grates on my nerves.

  “Don’t. That’s not what I’m paying you for. Do your job and make sure Ollie is taken care of.”

  Mary
tsks. “Such a shame. You’re not helping anyone with this attitude.”

  “And why would I? Also, I’m done with this conversation.”

  “Your son wants to speak with you,” she states causally.

  I stare at the ceiling, a smile already forming. “Okay, put him on.”

  “Daddy!” The sharp squeal is directly tied to the amount of sugar he’s consumed.

  I chuckle and rub my ear. “Hey, buddy.”

  “Guess what?”

  “Um, Mary got a speeding ticket?”

  He scoffs. “No! That’s silly. Miss Mary’s a super slow driver.”

  “Darn skippy,” I hear her call from the background.

  “Okay, Ollie. I give up. Tell me.” I close my eyes and get lost in his voice.

  “I found the bestest store of all time. She has toys and games and candy! Like the taffy kind that’s super-duper chewy. It’s stuck in my teeth!” He giggles, and my heart squeezes. His happiness is all that matters to me.

  “I’m glad you’re having fun, buddy.”

  “Uh-huh, yep. And Miss Braelyn is so nice. She’s pretty too. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

  I blink wide and clutch the pen in my hand. “I’m not sure that’s going to happen, Ollie.”

  “But why?” His whine stabs at my chest. “I told her we’d be back tomorrow.”

  “Without asking me first?” Am I such a softie that he already expects I’ll give in? Maybe I need to harden up a bit. But just thinking about being harsh with him leaves a sour taste on my tongue.

  Ollie pops his lips. “Didn’t think you’d really care, Daddy. You always let me choose what we do on Friday nights.”

  “What if I have to work late?” I argue.

  “Do you?” The wobble in his tone strikes me deep.

  “No.”

  “Good. Then, that’s our plan.”

  I raise my brows at his certainty. “Just like that?”

  “We’ll have so much fun. I promise.”

  The need to counterattack buzzes inside of me. My gut tightens on instinct. “I’m not so sure about that, Ollie. Maybe we should visit the park instead.”

  “M’kay, Mary wants the phone. And I have more taffy to eat. See you soon, Daddy.”

  “Bye, buddy.”

  Mary is laughing when she comes back on the line. “He’s got you tied tight around his little finger. That boy is gonna rule the roost soon enough.”

  “He already does,” I grumble.

  “Ah, let him. He deserves to bask in some extra attention.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “What’s it going to hurt, Brance?”

  I scrub over my forehead. “I don’t want him getting attached to a silly shop, or the owner for that matter.”

  “It’s a new discovery. That’s all. Next week he’ll move onto something else.”

  “We’ll see about that. Listen, my client is waiting. Tell Ollie I’ll be there soon.”

  “Sure, okay. I’ll have him home in an hour or so.” I can feel her hesitance.

  “I appreciate it, Mary. I’ll do my best to get outta here soon.”

  “Don’t concern yourself over a thing. We’ll be just dandy. I’ve got this situation handled.”

  I grunt. “Yeah, I bet you do.”

  “Tootles,” she sings.

  I roll my eyes and hang up the receiver. My gut twists that I’m not the one enjoying these seemingly mundane experiences with my son. This fucking job is too demanding. But now isn’t the time to analyze my workload.

  As if on cue, another knock echoes across the room. My client sashays through the door in a cloud of sickly sweet perfume and death-defying heels. I stand as Missus Kleinston reaches my desk.

  I motion to the empty chair. “Please take a seat.”

  She delicately folds herself into the leather scoop back. Her light blonde hair is pulled into a severe bun that’s perfectly coiffed. Blood red gloss coats her overly pouty lips, making them stand out far more than normal. Her too-smooth forehead shines in the overhead lights, and I almost chuckle at the irony. This woman clearly wants to hide her age, but the work she’s had done is glaringly obvious. Missus Kleinston reeks of entitlement and manipulation and broken dreams. Fucking typical.

  “Thank you very much for meeting me today,” she coos.

  I make a show of checking my watch. “And only ninety minutes late.”

  My meaning doesn’t hit the mark. Missus Kleinston leans forward, giving me a grotesque view of her fake tits. “I’ve heard you’re the best. I’m more than ready to separate from that cheating asshole I’ve been calling husband. Can you believe he assumes I’ll only get half of everything? What a joke.”

  I flare my nostrils and beg for patience. “Ma’am—”

  “Lianna,” she corrects.

  “With all due respect, my time is very valuable. I don’t appreciate tardiness.”

  A bony hand flutters to her chest. “My sincerest apologies. Lunch with the planning committee ran late. I told the driver to hurry.”

  I all but roll my eyes at her pitiful excuse. “No need to explain. Please don’t let it happen again. Being respectful of schedules is something I take seriously. You chose me because I’m the best. I know what it takes in this business.”

  “And I want to win.”

  “Of course. That’s the ultimate goal.”

  “Good.” Her smile is predatory. “How about we go out to dinner, my treat. I’d love the opportunity to make this little delay up to you.”

  I wave her off. “That’s not necessary. And besides, I’m late enough getting home.”

  “To your wife?” Lianna’s face seems to pinch. It’s hard to tell.

  I snort loudly. “Hell no. My son.”

  “Pity,” she mumbles. “Children are so demanding. Talk about high maintenance. I’m so glad we decided against having them.” Her forehead stays unmoving even though her statement calls for some emotion. Now that I look closer, she doesn’t have a single wrinkle. Her skin looks plastic.

  “Definitely a good choice,” I mumble.

  Lianna’s brown eyes laser into me. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you insinuating I’m not the motherly type?”

  “I’d never suggest such a thing.” Although I highly doubt she has a maternal molecule in her body. “Kids tend to have a difficult time with divorce. They add a messy layer and make the fighting more brutal.”

  She steeples her fingers and nods knowingly. “Ah, good point. Although taking away his privileges would’ve been a nice touch.”

  I grind my molars at her conniving suggestion. Children should never be pawns. And a father has every right to see his kids. I take a deep breath and manage to refrain from lashing out.

  “Thankfully, it didn’t come to that,” I say slowly.

  “Indeed,” she agrees. “I don’t want more trouble coming my way. He deserves to be the target for it all. I need to sully his reputation. Let all our friends know what a dog he is. In our circle, that’s the worst punishment.”

  I avert my eyes to the window so Lianna doesn’t catch the disdain reflecting there. She’s referring to the high society, country club bullshit I’ve purposely stayed away from.

  “And there are no transgressions on your part?”

  Her gasp is over the top. “Mister Stone—”

  I hold up a palm. “Brance, please.”

  Lianna delicately clears her throat. “I assure you all wrongdoing was solely on his behalf, Brance. I’m a faithful wife. Straying from my marriage never occurred to me. But my husband? He’s been screwing hussies all over town. The tennis instructor, for goodness sake. She can’t be older than twenty-two. Can you believe that?”

  Her sob story doesn’t lift an ounce of pity from me. I scrounge up a halfhearted frown for her benefit. “Sounds positively wretched, Lianna. How did you cope?”

  Her lashes flutter shut on an exaggerated sigh. “That’s a good question. I thought we were happy.” She sniffs and dives into a
dramatic retelling of their marriage.

  Keeping her talking is key, peeling off the layers to see what’s hiding underneath. Surprises during litigation are not my idea of fun. So, I nod along. I scribble a few notes. But the truth is I’ve done this song and dance more times than I can count. After being in this practice for over three years, I’ve realized divorce cases are all the same. Once I had a few under my belt, the rest began bleeding together. Not that I’m complaining. This woman sitting in front of me will be padding my pockets nicely, and there’s no use turning away easy money.

  After I’ve filled a few pages in my legal pad, Lianna’s tale comes to an end.

  She elegantly crosses one leg over the other. “So, what happens now?”

  I tap my pen on the desk. “We build your case and prepare for negotiations.”

  “There’s no way I’m backing down. I refuse to settle.”

  “That’s good to hear. I rarely take no for an answer.”

  Lianna pounds a bony fist against her palm. “I want to bring that man to his knees.”

  I smirk at her. “That’s what they all say.”

  Braelyn

  Sugar

  The air conditioner hums to life, pumping out a cool blast and making the store’s temperature bearable. My skin is balmy, making goosebumps rise when the chill wraps around me. It’s a rare occurrence that I don’t have to chase away the cold. That’s probably due to the fact I’ve been going nonstop since open. Unloading orders and stocking shelves keeps me moving.

  Today has been a good one.

  There’s no darkness clouding the edges of my vision. Terror isn’t holding me hostage. The nightmare from yesterday has lost intensity. I even feel a little light on my feet while stacking the extra inventory in the storage room. There’s a pep in my step as I walk to the front. I lean against the counter and take a moment to breathe.

  The craze that typically clogs Maple Street is slowing down. I watch the occasional car leisurely pass by. Traffic is sparse, signaling the evening hour. The sun is already hiding behind the buildings. An expansive glow of orange and purple and yellow peeks out in every direction. Soon it will be dark, the shopping buzz fading, while partygoers begin to stretch their legs.