Sandy - Vested Interest

“Jordan, I’m sorry. I was in Bentley’s office. He is crazy today.”

I chuckled. “He must have missed you.”

“If the pile of to-do’s on my desk is any indication, then yes.”

She was swamped, which wasn’t a surprise. Bentley relied heavily on her. I was reading too much into this.

“I was wondering about lunch. A sandwich in the park?”

“I can’t. Bentley has three meetings this afternoon, and I need to attend all of them. We’re leaving in about ten minutes. Rain check?”

“Of course. Maybe tomorrow.”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

She hung up, and my unease returned. She hadn’t agreed to lunch tomorrow. She hadn’t taken a moment to say anything personal.

I would call her this evening, and we would talk it through. Maybe go see her once I dealt with the real estate agent. Although I hadn’t said anything to Sandy, I was on edge about the house and the next steps. I would tell her that as well. I was sure she would listen and help me sort out my feelings.

Perhaps we could address hers as well.

My plan was good—except, I never spoke to Sandy that night. My agent showed up at six, a folder filled with offers, and I spent the next several hours going back and forth with one buyer who was determined to buy the property. By midnight, the deal was done, the papers signed, and I was both elated and relieved. I picked up the phone to call Sandy, then glanced at the clock and hung up.

I stared at the phone. If this had been last week, I was certain I would have called her, regardless of the time. She would have been welcoming and pleased to hear my news, sharing in my happiness of the offer and understanding my relief it was done so quickly. But tonight, I was hesitant because I wasn’t sure of her reaction. I worried about disturbing her and afraid if she was dismissive or uncaring of my news that I wasn’t sure how I would handle it. I decided to wait until I saw her in the morning.

Once again, my sleep was broken and fragmented.JordanI found her in the kitchen making coffee in the morning. I entered the room, determined to speak to her. She glanced up from pouring water into the coffeemaker.

“Good morning,” I greeted her.

“Morning,” she replied, pushing the button. “Coffee will be ready in a moment.”

“Great, but I didn’t come for that.”

She leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. She looked casual, but her body was tense. Her tone was cordial, but I preferred it when she spoke to me in that low, breathless voice. “I expected to hear from you last night,” she remarked.

I mimicked her stance. “It was past midnight when we finished. I texted you a couple of times, but you didn’t respond.”

“I was sorting some drawers in Max’s office. I forgot my phone in the kitchen.”

“I see.”

“How did the offers go?”

I sighed and loosened my arms. It felt as if I was talking to a polite stranger, not the woman I spent the weekend with. “I accepted the highest offer. He came in at thirty grand over asking. He wanted a two-week closing, but I got it pushed back to a month. He had no conditions other than the two weeks, so we bartered back and forth for a bit. He was pretty set on it, and I wanted six weeks, but we compromised in the end.”

She smiled, a real, genuine Sandy smile. Stepping forward, she laid her hand on my arm. “Jordan, that is wonderful. Congratulations. I’ll make sure Bentley knows you need the condo in a month.”

I laid my hand over hers, meeting her gaze. What I saw bothered me. Her eyes were dull, and the pain and worry in them made me ache.

“Sandy,” I murmured. “Talk to me.”

She pulled away. “I am.”

I grabbed at her hand, holding it tight. “Something is wrong. I feel it. Talk to me,” I repeated.

She didn’t try to deny it. “Not here.”

“Lunch?”

She paused, then nodded. I felt a flash of relief. If she talked to me, I could help her sort out whatever was going on in her head.

“Okay, I’ll pick us up a sandwich.”

“All right.”

The air around us was tense. Trying to lighten the atmosphere, I lifted my cup. “I’ll take that coffee if you’re still offering.”

Smiling, she held out her hand for my mug. “Of course.”

But her eyes remained troubled, and I fought down the feeling that lunch was only going to make things worse.She waited for me on the bench we often had sat on in the past when we would share lunch. During those earlier days, when we were simply two people drawing comfort from each other. I studied her as I grew close, once again noting her pallor and the anxious set to her shoulders. One of Sandy’s greatest gifts had always been that of repose. She rarely fidgeted or squirmed. She didn’t play with her hair or drum her fingers restlessly. She was calm, never resorting to theatrics or displays of temper.