Becoming Hank: A Trellis Family Novella (Building the Circle) Page 6

  She still hadn't moved.

  They were standing in front of the polar bear exhibit as the crowd moved around them. He wiped the tear from her cheek. Her body remained rigid when he tried to hug her, so he let go and gave her space.

  "Do you want me to stop calling you Hank?'" she blurted. "I will. If you don't like it, I'll stop.'"

  He shook his head. "I like 'Hank.' I like being Hank with you. It's easier. Feels better. Easier to be happy."

  She nodded. "You have real feelings for me, right? I mean, it seems like you do. But you do, right?"

  He stared, unsure what to do.

  "Because, years from now, I'm still going to remember this as the singular point in time that I fell in love with you. And I don't want to be alone in those feelings."

  He exhaled hard, hugging her again.

  His voice came out in a whisper. "You had my heart when I was standing outside the restaurant staring at my stupid shiny shoes. I've been hoping you wouldn't realize it because it's pathetic. You're so full of light and joy, so beautiful with your smiles and humor. I was terrified on Friday. I thought for sure you were going to end things."

  She shook her head into his chest, sniffling.

  "There's tissue in my right pocket," he breathed into her hair, chin resting on her head as he held her close.

  "People don't give me things," she started, then cleared her throat. When he tried to step back to look at her, she followed him, her head still tucked against him with the crowd moving around them, ignoring them.

  "Orders, dishes, tips maybe. But people I care about? They don't give me things. They don't care about taking care of me. I take care of people. It's why I like waiting tables. I get to take care of others, make them happy and share a little joy. You know? But no one takes care of me. I didn't have much of a family. I've always been on my own.

  "I keep taking your coats because you keep offering them. You keep trying to take care of me. I can't believe you thought to bring me gloves. Or flowers. Or to be on time. Despite what you think, not everyone appreciates my directness. But you think of me, even when you don't have to."

  Her words trailed off into silence as they stood together, still oblivious to their surroundings.

  "I love you," Trip said clearly, realizing he had not spoken the words earlier and knowing they'd be important to her. He didn't want to leave any doubt. "I don't know how we managed this in a couple of nighttime walks and a few dates, but here we are."

  Darla stepped back, sighing as she grinned up at him. After a big swallow of hot chocolate, she laughed. "I'm a snotty mess."

  Eyes shining, skin glowing with happiness in the weak fall light, Trip thought she was the most brilliantly beautiful thing in sight. "You're beautiful."

  "I'm certain there are mascara streaks," she disagreed.

  He shrugged. "Still beautiful."

  She grinned again, her earlier somberness forgotten. "I'm going to the ladies’ room back there." She pointed. "Hold my hot chocolate."

  "I will take your cold chocolate and heat it up with fresh stuff," he replied. "Then I'll walk back that way to meet you."

  She smiled in agreement before turning to go.

  A stop at the concession stand later, Trip followed in her wake, on the lookout for Darla in the crowd. He heard her before he saw her.

  "Let. Go. Of. Me." Her voice was a growl, carrying through the crowd as she tried to line up a well-placed kick.

  "Ain't no manager here to protect you, whore. I saw you snuggling with that asshole." The guy had her arm in a vice grip, dragging her in the other direction, not twenty feet from Trip.

  Without a thought, Trip jogged up to them, the plan already formed in his mind. "Let her go. Now."

  "Fuck off, asshole. The bitch and I have some things to—"

  The words and obscenities turned to screams as the guy did his best to wipe steaming hot chocolate out of his eyes.

  By the time he could see again, Trip and Darla were long gone, almost back to the car.

  "IT'S A ZOO! WHO THE HELL GETS ACCOSTED AT A ZOO?" Darla screamed once she was in the car. "It's full of animals in cages and little kids and exhausted parents. How can that happen at the zoo?"

  "Are you okay?" Trip asked quietly. He'd been repeating the question, over and over, as Darla dragged him out of the zoo, nearly running. "Darla, are you listening? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

  "Who does that? Do I have some sort of sign on my back that says, 'Give me a hard time! I react well to bullies!'"

  "Darla—"

  "Everywhere I go! No matter what I do! I was walking out of the damn bathroom! A giant crowd of people. No one even turned when I yelled," she continued. "It must be me. It's me. I bring this on myself. I need to re-evaluate my life choices as a waitress!"

  "Darla—"

  "No, it's me. I'm trouble—"

  "DARLA!"

  She stopped, mid-rant, to stare at him.

  "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

  "Huh?" she asked, wide-eyed.

  "Are you okay? Is your arm hurt where he grabbed you?" Trip tried again, talking slowly and quietly.

  "I-I'm okay. I'm fine." Her voice wobbled as she swallowed tears. "Are you angry?"

  "Huh?" he asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

  The words fell out of her mouth in a quick babble. "Please don't be mad. I didn't mean for it to happen. He was in the restaurant last week and gave me a hard time. If I had known—"

  "Darla, I'm not mad at you. I'm worried for you," Trip cut her off.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry this is such a mess. That I'm such a mess."

  Trip scratched his head in annoyance, even more confused as his anger flashed. "I have no idea how this could even remotely be your fault. It's not your fault he grabbed you. I don't care about the history. It doesn't matter how you know him. It. Doesn't. Matter. People don't get to do that. It's not your fault when someone puts an unwelcome hand on you, Darla!" He was yelling before he could stop himself.

  Taking a deep breath, he tried again, more quietly. "If you're okay, I'll take you home. If you're not okay, we'll go to the hospital and call the police. But, if we do that, we should call Tom first because I'll probably get arrested for throwing scalding liquid in his face."

  She continued to stare until he started the car. "I think I might be the only person in the world to get accosted at the zoo. It's full of little kids. Why would he even be here?"

  "I'm pretty sure he works here. He had some kind of ID card clipped to his belt," Trip replied, tentatively reaching for her hand. "Are you okay?"

  "Fine. I'm fine," she murmured, calmer now. Reaching across the seat, she hugged him. "Thank you. That was quick thinking."

  Trip snorted out a humorless laugh. "He would have beaten the tar out of me given a chance. I'm not much help in a fight. But, I can throw hot liquid."

  "Can we go somewhere else? I don't want to go back to the apartment. Sue will badger me for details, and I don't want to talk about it. It's only ten-thirty in the morning. I don't want to go back yet."

  Trip nodded. "If you're done with people, we can get takeout lunch and watch a movie at my place. If you want to be out and about, the botanical gardens aren't far from here."

  Darla stared out the front window, considering. "I've never been to the gardens. I'd like to go, but not today, okay?"

  With another nod, Trip backed out of the parking space, only letting go of her hand to change gears.

  Trip started awake sometime in the night, unsure where he was. Looking around in the dim light, he recognized his apartment. They had fallen asleep on his couch watching a Fred Astaire movie. The television screen was lit with static but silent. It was late; past the hours of showing classic movies.

  When they'd gotten back to his apartment, she’d looked around at his bare walls and sparse furniture without comment.

  "Do you mind if I wash off my makeup?" she'd asked, exhausted.

  He'd been waiting in the hallwa
y when she opened the bathroom door. "My clothes are going to be huge on you, but these sweats have a tie waistband, and this sweatshirt is too small for me if you want to change out of your dress."

  When she’d stepped into his arms, he’d tried to hug her as she’d tried to kiss him. "Darla, easy, okay? It's been a hard day, and it's barely noon."

  She’d taken the clothes and disappeared back into the bathroom.

  They’d eaten their weight in Chinese takeout and spent the day curled together on the couch, not saying much.

  Now, hours later, her skin was radiant by the ambient light, her long lashes resting peacefully, her eyes closed.

  Trip scooted, shifting so he could get up. A second later, she was curled in his arms, still asleep, as he carried her to bed. After he tucked her in and turned to go, she called to him. Her eyes were still closed.

  "Where are you going?"

  "The couch," he whispered, turning back to kiss her softly. "Sleep, Darla."

  "Stay, Hank? Please stay?"

  Tucked under the covers, wrapped together, they were both asleep again within a minute.

  9

  Darla woke to the smell of frying bacon on Monday morning.

  "Good morning," Trip murmured when she wandered into the kitchen.

  "Showered and dressed already?" she asked, touching his damp hair as she kissed his cheek. "Late for work?"

  He grinned at the bacon as he flipped it. "Cough. Cough. I'm sick. What are we doing today?"

  "You took a sick day?" she asked, grinning back.

  "I did."

  "Are you going to get in trouble?"

  "No idea. I've never taken a sick day before," he replied sheepishly. "I don't care. Maybe my dad will do me a favor and fire me."

  Darla's smile turned sad. "If you hate it, quit."

  "There's a lot tied up in that. I'm pretty sure the remainder of our high-dollar clients would leave if I quit."

  "All the more reason," she disagreed.

  Trip sighed, changing the subject. "How are you feeling?"

  "Starving, but good. I don't think I've slept that much in a single day before. Even in my early teens." She shrugged, reaching for a hot piece of bacon, just out of the pan.

  "You're going to burn your mouth," Trip scolded, swatting at her hand. "Scrambled eggs?"

  "Sure." Darla swatted back at him, chuckling.

  "Oh, good." He smiled again. "That's the only kind of egg I know how to make with any sort of reliability."

  Darla grinned, bumping him out of the way as she took over the stove. "How do you want your eggs?"

  "Um," Trip hedged. "What are my options?"

  "What do you want? I was a short-order cook for a while, and I love breakfast. I can make just about anything."

  "I'm absolutely gloating to Tom about this," Trip muttered, laughing.

  Darla raised her eyebrows.

  "He loves food and doesn't cook—not even scrambled eggs. If he asks, we had eggs benedict."

  She pulled a face. "I'm not making hollandaise sauce right now. I doubt you have fresh lemons. Try again."

  Trip's mouth dropped open in shock. "You can make it?”

  "Damn straight."

  "I love this. I love you."

  She grinned again, stretching to kiss him.

  "Did you use my toothbrush?"

  "No. I did use your toothpaste, though." She smiled, kissing him again as she yanked him closer.

  A moment later, Trip reached to flip off the stove, then shifted to lift Darla—

  Interlude — Sam & Beth

  Tiny hands clapped in front of Sam's face.

  "Wake up!" Bethany commanded.

  Sam blinked quickly, snapping back to reality. "What?"

  Beth jumped, looking guilty. "Were you really asleep? Your eyes were open."

  "No, not really," Sam assured his little sister. "You didn't wake me. My mind was elsewhere."

  "Oh."

  "What's wrong?" he asked.

  "Where's Ethan? Did he come home with you?"

  "He did." Sam nodded. "I thought he and Jake were doing something."

  "I can't find them. I found Noah in the basement. He only wants to tell me the naughty bits of the story, though." Beth pulled a face.

  "There aren't naughty bits in the story, Beth. You know that."

  "There might be naughty bits that Dad skips over. But you know Noah will make that stuff up if he gets a chance."

  Sam bit back a laugh at her look of consternation. "Mom's in the kitchen. She'll tell you the story."

  "I can't tell Mom! She'll be mad." Beth chewed on her bottom lip. "I'm going to have to pretend, aren't I?"

  "No, you should tell Mom what happened. Mrs. Witman shouldn't have said what she did," Sam disagreed. "Stop chewing on your lip. That's ugly."

  Beth frowned at him, making Sam hide a smile behind his hand. She hated being called out on bad habits.

  "Do you want me to tell the story?" Sam asked again.

  "Ugh. No. You're terrible at telling stories," she repeated. "I'll make another lap of the house. Maybe they're outside."

  Sam sighed, eyes going vacant again as his little sister left the room.

  10

  The first Monday in November, Trip waited in his father's office. It was six-thirty in the morning. No one else would be in the office for at least another hour.

  "I'm here. What do you need?" J.R. barked, stomping into the room. "Why couldn't we do this in an hour?"

  Trip got up from his chair and closed his father's door.

  J.R.'s eyebrows shot up. "What's wrong?"

  "Jerry's a fraud. He embezzled roughly fifty thousand dollars."

  The shock fell away from J.R.'s expression, leaving an utterly blank mask. He gave nothing away. "Why do you think this?"

  Trip stared at his father.

  "Are you going to explain or just lob accusations around?" J.R. demanded.

  "I know Jerry is a crook. The part I don't know is if you are aware of it or maybe participating in it."

  "What? How could you suggest that?" J.R. boomed.

  "And this is why we're meeting now." Trip's voice was flat. "I found it while investigating the Canton thing. You signed off on some of the internal records."

  J.R.'s voice snapped like a whip. "Show me."

  Page by page, Trip laid out the fraud he'd found, pointing out the nuances and discrepancies.

  "I didn't know, Trip," J.R. said clearly, meeting his son's eyes. "I would have noticed this. I didn't sign those records."

  "It's your signature, Dad."

  "I was in Florida with your mother when I supposedly signed the last one," J.R. disagreed.

  Trip thought back, then shook his head. "I don't know. This happened before I was out of school."

  "There's no recent sign of fraud?"

  "None. It stopped after Jerry disappeared."

  "He took the money and ran," J.R. realized.

  Trip nodded. "The files will be turned over to the authorities. They'll have questions for you. I wanted to tell you before they did."

  J.R.'s face went pale, then a bit green. "Don't, Trip. It'll be the end of the firm. It's not that much money. We'll funnel it back into the accounts and make it right. We don't need the authorities involved."

  Trip shook his head.

  "You can't do this, Trip. Don't do this to us. It'll ruin me." J.R.'s voice was pleading.

  Expecting anger, Trip wasn't sure how to respond. "If it comes from our own investigations, our own proactive investigations, I don't think we'll lose business, Dad. I think Canton will understand."

  "He already has one foot out the door. The other high-value accounts will go with him. You know that. I'll be selling annuities to poor widows for the rest of my life. Don't do this."

  "It's already done, Dad," Trip admitted. "I gave the files to Tom on Friday. He's handing them over on our behalf, asking for official help with the investigation. Edward Canton will meet us for lunch today. He should hear it fr
om us."

  J.R.'s shoulders slumped as his gaze went unfocused. "Get out."

  Trip exhaled hard, leaving the office. It was done. Whatever came next would be handled, but now J.R. knew, and he skipped the temper tantrum.

  Leading the way into the restaurant, Trip saw Edward Canton across the room, then saw his pleasant expression drop at the sight of J.R.

  I should have told him J.R. was coming, Trip realized.

  "Sir," Trip nodded, shaking Canton's hand.

  "Hello Henry," Edward said, his tone resigned. "Good afternoon, J.R."

  "Thank you for making time for lunch, sir," Trip started, taking his seat.

  "Of course, Henry. I should have expected J.R. when there were three menus at the table. I hope you've both been well."

  Trip looked to his father, expecting him to chime in. Instead, J.R. sat mute and staring, clearly expecting the worst. "Let's order, and then we'll have time to talk," Trip suggested.

  Drinks and lunch on the way, Edward glanced between the Trellis men. "I expect there's some sort of news."

  "There is," Trip nodded. "This morning, the Federal Bureau of Investigations opened an investigation into the handling of all of Jerry's former accounts. As you know, I've been investigating the irregularities you noted. To my eye, it appears to be criminal activity, not an error. It goes beyond the accounts you're aware of."

  Edward Canton stared at Trip, shocked. "You've handed over evidence to the authorities?"

  "I did."

  The table was silent as Edward processed the situation.

  Unsure what to do with the awkward silence, Trip cleared his throat. “It was the right thing to do.”

  Edward's eyebrows raised as he half-smiled. "I know that, Henry. I agree. I just didn't expect you to do it proactively. I expected a conversation like this, where you asked me to overlook the issue."

  Edward Canton's eyes cut to J.R. The two men glared at each other, something passing between them. J.R.'s lips pressed together, turning white.

  "Your accounts were not involved in the fraud, sir. Technically, this has nothing to do with you. We're sharing the news as a courtesy since you brought the matter to our attention." Trip's voice was clinical and calm. He knew J.R. was swallowing his rage at that moment. He resisted the urge to look at his father.