Page 34 of Rescuing Carolyn

“I’m fine where I am,” he insisted.

“Austin missed you.” I didn’t say that I’d missed having him across the dinner table, watching television with him in the evening, and snuggling next to him.

“I’ll stop in in the morning to see him.”

“Really, Zach?” I let my annoyance show in my voice.

“Get some sleep, Carolyn,” he said and clicked off.

Damn. I tossed the phone aside and went up to my lonely bed, but I didn’t sleep. The feeling of abandonment in my chest was too sharp, too familiar from my childhood experiences with my father and my previous experience with Zach. Maybe I’d been naïve to think it could be different now. I knew that the happy fairy tale life wasn’t meant for me.

Zach seemed committed this time, but perhaps not to me. He was committed to being a father to Austin, which I couldn’t fault him for. I’d felt, though, that a strong bond was forming between me and Zach. We were parents and lovers together. Ah, damn. I collapsed back on my pillow, forcing myself to close my eyes but knowing that sleep wouldn’t come.

Bleary-eyed, I answered the door to Zach’s knock early the following morning.

“You have a key,” I said after greeting him.

“It’s your house.” His tone was, at best, matter of fact.

I sighed. “It is my house, which is why I gave you a key.”

“Is Austin up?”

So that’s the way it was going to be. “Not yet, but he’s stirring. You get him while I make breakfast.”

Over the monitor in the kitchen, I could hear the interaction between father and son. Austin happily babbled away. I should be pleased that they had such a good relationship. Instead, I felt excluded since Zach was blocking me out. I poured pancake batter onto the griddle in perfect circles, controlling my motions as I tried to control my feelings.

“Mama,” Austin greeted me when Zach carried him into the kitchen.

“Hi, baby.” I went to him, taking him in my arms and ignoring the tingle that raced through me when my hand brushed against Zach’s. “Ready for pancakes?”

While Zach cut Austin’s food into kid-sized bites, I noticed that Zach had changed his clothes while upstairs and tried to decide what that meant. It was probably just an indication that he needed to get to work soon.

“Coffee?” I asked as I put Austin in his high chair.

“I’ll get it,” he responded without looking at me.

Since I wanted breakfast to seem as normal as possible for Austin, I talked about how Austin was going to his grandma’s house today while I went to a meeting at the store with the insurance adjusters. Zach contributed almost nothing to the conversation. The few things he said were directed at Austin.

We’d barely finished eating when Zach declared he needed to go. I carried Austin to the door to wave bye-bye to Daddy and saw Zach’s duffel bag sitting in the foyer. My stomach sank as I realized what that meant. He was moving out the few items he’d moved in, sending me the message that whatever was between us was over without any discussion. I met his eyes over the top of Austin’s head and knew I couldn’t keep the hurt out of mine.

“I’ll be back later to see Austin,” Zach said, as if that made it all better.

I only nodded and held perfectly still when Zach kissed Austin goodbye and left. Fortunately, our son was too young to pick up on the tension between his parents—because it had been extreme. Not what I needed when I was facing a business in ruins and a saboteur.

“Mama needs to get ready for the day,” I said to Austin. Upstairs, I applied makeup to cover up the signs of my sleepless night and put on my favorite dress, a magenta one with a tucked waist and full skirt. I opted for practical flats because of the fire scene, but I needed clothing to be my armor today. Facing everything would be easier if I felt good about how I looked.

In All That Sparkles’ office, remarkably untouched by the fire, I made phone calls to suppliers and customers explaining about the fire and assuring them that it would be business as usual again as soon as possible. In the afternoon, the insurance adjuster arrived, an experience I dreaded since he’d been at my store just weeks ago following the robbery.

My worry grew when the adjuster walked through the rubble, taking notes and saying nothing. I tried to ask a few questions, but his answers were brief or unhelpful, so I waited.

“Ms. Evert,” he finally said, “I have serious concerns about paying on this incident.”

“The fire inspector said?—”

He cut me off. “My company received his preliminary report, and we agree that it was arson.”

“So what’s the problem?” Why were they acting as if I were guilty of something?

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