What If I Never (Necklace Trilogy 1)

“Dash is wonderful,” she says. “Truly committed to our cause and now that we have you on board, I feel good about meeting and exceeding our fundraising goals.”

That’s it. That’s all she says about Dash. Obviously, he hasn’t talked to her at all and she moves on to the topic of Allison. “I really liked Allison, but she seemed distracted. I really wasn’t surprised to hear she left.”

“She’s on leave,” I say. “I do think she’ll be back.”

“Please tell me that doesn’t mean you won’t be here to the finish line.”

“I will. Even if I have to finish up as a part of Riptide’s team, rather than that of Hawk Legal. This is going to be grand,” I promise. “Which reminds me. I need to call my boss about the sponsorship, and we need coffee, don’t you think?”

“Yes, indeed,” she agrees.

After that, the meeting is productive. Mark is on board with the free sponsorship in trade for helping with the valuation of the auction items, and Millie has a great list of prospective donors. And while for the most part, I’m fully engrossed in the meeting, I can’t help a few hopeful peeks at the table where Dash was working yesterday. He simply never shows up.

It’s disappointing, more so than I truly expected it to be.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

That evening me and my Lean Cuisine are keeping each other company at my new kitchen island. I shoot a quick email to Tyler detailing how I’d like to handle the Riptide sponsorship, as well as the list of clients Allison kept as auction prospects.

He replies almost immediately: I’m headed out of town for the remainder of the week. We’ll discuss everything when I return, after I see how you handle my clients at the party.

The email stings of distrust. No, I amend, not distrust. Control.

A familiar quality I’ve come to know well.

My cellphone rings where it sits on the counter next to me, my mother’s number on caller ID. “Hey, Mom,” I greet. “Are you headed home?”

“We’re going to Vegas first. Remember the Garth Brooks Concert?”

“You said Texas, not Vegas.”

“I meant Vegas. I guess I subconsciously thought you’d freak out if you knew we were going to both.”

The idea of Vegas punches me in the chest one moment but in the next, I feel joy. My mother loves Garth, and she’s alive and living a happy life. It’s then that I realize that freedom is both a right and a choice.

That sounds crazy, I know, but too often so many of us are guilty of being chained by our own fears, worries, inhibitions, and of course, self-esteem issues. I know I’m guilty of all of these things, my fear of losing my mother has become not only my own chains but my mother’s.

“You’re not saying anything,” she says. “You’re freaking out, aren’t you?”

“I’m not freaking out. I’m jealous. I love Garth, too. You should have invited me.”

“Then I couldn’t make-out with your stepfather when the romantic songs come on.”

“Oh, good Lord, Mother. My ears. The images in my head.”

“Oh, whatever, silly girl. How’s the new job?”

I’m smiling when I say, “It’s good,” and let her off the hook for everything about this conversation. We then chat a bit about the auction. “I really think it’s a good cause. They need me and I need this. I’m supposed to be here right now, doing this.”

“I do believe you are,” she agrees. “How about brunch next Sunday? I want to hear more about it. Maybe I can help. I’ll make those waffles you love.”

“I’d love that mom. See you then.”

When we disconnect, I feel more at peace with her recovery than I have since her illness rocked our worlds. She is free of that monster, I tell myself.

And so am I.

Later, when I lay in bed alone, I don’t fret about her safety. Instead, I think of Dash, remembering his hands on my body. And I wonder if he will be at Tyler’s party, but I decide he won’t be. The two men do not get along. Of that, I am certain.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

On the evening of the party, I leave work much later than planned, but do so with the knowledge that, thanks to Millie’s list, I’ve secured a few hot ticket auction items, sure to entice bidders to attend. I’m actually starting to feel like I can pull this off as a big win for the charity and in the end, Riptide will see this as a win for them as well.

But I’m really pushing it on time.

It’s six when I step in the door to the house and immediately head for the bedroom.

After fretting much of this week about what to wear tonight, I change my mind again tonight at least three times. I end up in a belted burgundy dress with a pleated skirt and a V-neck. It’s simple but classy, and it feels like the right choice. It’s also expensive, a Chanel label, and one of my high-end thrift store finds, I most love. With a little black Burberry bag at my hip, I head to the garage and climb in my car. It doesn’t start. I try again. And again and again, before I accept the inevitable. The car is old, so old it was my car in college, and it’s barely been used in years. Why my mother kept it, I don’t know, but it was convenient to have it here until it wasn’t.