Her Reason To Stay

“Thanks for the advice.”

A chill April wind blew through the open door. Bits of paper whispered across the parking lot.

Beneath the streetlights, his shiny car stood out from the dull vehicles around it. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, struggling against an insistent need to call him back.

Patrick opened his car door. “Get moved to a different room.”

She patted her back pocket for her key card. “Yeah.” She shut her door and made a beeline for the window shielded by a smudged curtain and a white sign that dripped the word Office in black.

Only several moments after he’d turned the car in a wide, swift circle, without looking at her, did she move away from her lookout position.

THE NEXT MORNING, the college student on duty behind the counter at Cosmic Grounds came to Daphne’s table and passed her a red Sharpie. Smiling shyly, he said, “I found this for you.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” He was already gone, the back of his neck shiny red.

She ducked her head and returned to the classifieds of the Honesty Sentinel.

Fortified by a cup of the kid’s strongest brew, she started her search. Pickings were slim, but she had to find something she could do. Then she’d worry about coming up with a résumé to impress a prospective employer.

Fifteen minutes later, she’d circled only three jobs that required no experience.

What would Raina think? It all depended on which Raina Daphne met here for coffee—the one who’d sat hunched in the corner of Patrick’s office chair, or the one who’d shown up at the coffee shop two days earlier. The second one didn’t seem likely to die of shame if her twin took a menial job.

Daphne rested her forehead in one palm and started at the ads again. She could always go back to jury consulting. Considering the mess she’d made of her last case, she could slip by the local jail and set the felons loose on an unsuspecting populace.

Inhaling with all her might, she swallowed hard. The negative stuff was getting too difficult to deal with on her own. She had to find a meeting. It had been over a week since her last one, but the thing they’d drummed into her addled head in rehab had been the importance of always finding an AA meeting.

“I thought I’d find you here. Good thing you keep coming, or they’d be out of business.” Raina’s voice at her side made Daphne jump.

Daphne set the marker on the table. “Hello, Raina.”

Today’s perfect outfit was a pink tweed suit and patent-leather pumps.

“Are you on your way to work?” Daphne asked.

“I had a meeting, but I’m planning to look for something like a job.”

“Like a job?”

“You know, one that pays.” Raina sat across the table. “My mother’s health began deteriorating after I finished college, so I helped her keep up with her charity work. We’re close to D.C., you know, but we’re such a small town in a small county. Our social services don’t always stretch to help everyone who needs them.” She smoothed her perfect hair. “When Mother couldn’t do everything she wanted, I did what she asked.”

“That’s good work.”

“But it was my mother’s. Not that I resented being her right hand. I enjoy helping people.”

“Who have you been helping? Children?”

“And adults. Anyone who doesn’t have a job. Anyone who needs something to eat.” She looked away and her uncomfortable expression made Daphne wonder if Raina thought she needed help, too.

“I’m fine. I don’t have your kind of money, but I don’t need to be rescued.”

Raina met her gaze straight on. “I wasn’t thinking of you that way. But I knew you’d take it personally.” She gripped another steamer trunk-size purse, this one in pale pink that matched her suit. “Remember, I accused you of coming for my money and I refused you before you got a chance to ask.”

“That’s true.” Daphne sipped her coffee. “I guess that proves something.”

“That I’m tactless?”

“No. That it’s easier to care for people you don’t know.” Daphne thought about all the people she’d assisted by selecting the juries that freed them. It had been great. She’d thought she was helping the innocent find justice until she’d actually learned the truth about her last client.

“I’d like to help you if you’d let me.” Raina flipped her bag open. She pulled out a square opaque plastic container, topped with a blue lid. “To make up for my heavy hand, I’ll admit I brought you breakfast. I’m sure they didn’t feed you at that hotel.”

“Let’s ask Patrick if anyone would be foolish enough to eat there,” Daphne said without thinking.

“He told me you were upset that I’d sent him.”

“Not upset.”

“You had every right to be. I don’t know why I didn’t come myself. Maybe then you’d believe I want you to stay with me.”

Her sister’s face revealed her regret. Daphne let her qualms go and leaned across the table to touch the container. “You cooked for me?”

“Not exactly.” Raina popped the lid. “I didn’t make it although I’m an excellent chef. But our cook made an egg casserole with prosciutto and Parmesan this morning—”

“Our cook?” Daphne pictured Patrick spooning something from a silver dish across a long table from Raina. Did he and his son live with her?

“Mine now, I guess.” Raina’s expression tensed and Daphne patted her hand.

“You mean she worked for your mother and you? I’m sorry.”

“Who’d you think might be living with me?”

Daphne wasn’t about to utter Patrick’s name. “No one.”

Raina’s skin stretched even more tautly across her high cheekbones. “Funny that we’re hurting each other even when we don’t want to. I’m not seeing Patrick Gannon. He’s been my best friend since childhood. His parents were my mother and father’s closest friends.”

“He says he’s divorced.”

“And he’ll be dealing with Lisa, who’s no picnic, until Will is out of college or older.”

She took another container from her purse and popped that lid, too, revealing fresh-cut strawberries, blueberries, grapes, pineapple and melon, all very tempting. Daphne licked her lips. She could see how Eve might fall for an apple.

“What’s with Patrick and his son?” she asked.

“His ex-wife did horrible things. Bad enough to ensure that she lost custody of Will. He and Patrick are both trying to get over her.” Another box held utensils. “She thought I was having an affair with him, too.”

“Were you?”

“You’re blunt.”