Page 17 of Wildest Dreams

“I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“No, really. That’s one of the reasons Tucker gave for cheating on me. He said I was boring.” There’s an edge to her voice—she’s still angry. Honestly, she probably has a right to be. If I could get away with walking over and punching that guy in the face, I’d do it in a heartbeat just on principle.

“Let’s not talk about him anymore,” I say in an attempt to lift the mood. “Tell me your story. About your family, friends, hobbies, how you became an accountant with a stunning rental house on the lake.”

“It is a fabulous house, isn’t it?”

“I could stay there forever. I absolutely love it.”

She looks down at her hands and picks at one of her nails. I’ve clearly hit a nerve.

“My dad was an accountant,” she says. “He retired a few years ago, so I took over his practice and my parents moved to the beach. I’m an only child. I had a pretty typical, happy childhood. That’s about it. See? Boring.” She shrugs.

I shake my head. “Not boring. Happy childhoods aren’t typical in my experience. You’re very lucky. And rare.”

“So you’re a cynic?”

“Just a little.”

“I guess I am lucky. We were pretty happy. Family dinners, church on Sunday, Mom and Dad loved each other. Blissfully boring. How’s that?”

“Blissfully boring is good,” I say, my eyes locked on hers. “Did you always want to be an accountant?”

“Lord, no,” she says, wiping a little beer foam from her upper lip. “When I was little, I wanted to be a gymnast, but I was terrible. I was always hurting myself. Then I got into photography and I loved that, but the only way to make money in that field is to do weddings and family portraits, which would stress me out and take the joy out of the art. Accounting was much safer and practical, so photography became a hobby. I went to college not far from here, then came home and married Tucker. We were high school sweethearts, did the long-distance thing in college since he stayed here. After I graduated, we got married, built that beautiful dream house on the lake, and planned to have a bunch of kids. Then it all fell apart.”

“And now?”

“Now? There’s not much to say for now. I work. My best friend Patsy is my secretary, which makes the days fun and interesting. I live in a loft above my office. When I took over my dad’s practice, it was filled with decades of old files, so I put all that in storage and turned the space into a little apartment for myself. It’s small, but nice.” She looks sad, maybe even a little embarrassed.

“You don’t miss the house?”

She shakes her head defiantly. “I can’t go back there.”

I nod, then change the subject. “What about the photography? Do you still take pictures?”

“It’s been years since I even took my camera out of the bag.”

“Don’t you miss it?”

“I don’t really think about it, to be honest. But yeah, now that you mention it, I guess I do.” Her voice has a sad, melancholic tone.

“What kind of photos did you take?”

“Nature stuff and local sites around town. I do have a pretty awesome picture of Bertha. I’ll have to make you a copy before you go back to California.”

I make a face, like a faux grimace. Then it dawns on me that she’s probably the one who took the photos in the house, so I ask.

“Yep!” she says, looking a little sad. “Those are mine.”

“They’re amazing! You should get back into it.”

“I might. I stay busy with work and everything, so it’s hard.” A shadow falls over her face.

“Are you happy?” The words come out of my mouth before I pause to ask if that was too forward. She squirms in her chair and looks down, so I know I’ve made her uncomfortable.

“I just am,” she says. “I’m not really happy or sad. I guess I float along in a state of numb resignation.” She raises her eyebrows and takes a deep breath. I think she’s surprised herself with her own candor.

“You’re not still pining for that guy over there, are you?” I motion over my shoulder to where I know he’s still keeping an eye on us.

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