Page 88 of Everything We Give

“Your father will be here soon.”

“When?” I look out the window.

Before she answers, Aimee appears with refreshments. “I found Crystal Light mix and ice cubes. It’s not fresh-squeezed lemonade, but it’s better than the scotch I found in the cabinet.”

I wouldn’t turn down a finger, or three, of the hard stuff. She moves by me to set a tray on the table. I catch a whiff of her perfume. It’s all Aimee. Playful and sensual at once. Familiar and grounding. Calming. Needing to touch her, I rest my hand on her lower back as she stretches across the table to give Lacy a glass.

“Thank you.” Lacy sips her drink.

She hasn’t changed much from my memory from when she found me in a ditch on the roadside, or the photo from the café’s soft opening. Just an older version of herself. Her hair is more silver than the platinum it used to be and is cut into a bob. Those mysterious lavender-blue eyes that have both fascinated and haunted me since I was nine have faded, as eyes do with age. They are a light shade of blue. A spiderweb of fine lines edges her eyes and mouth. Her hands are weathered.

Aimee pulls out the chair beside mine. I thread my fingers with hers and hold her hand in my lap when she’s seated. She pushes a glass in my direction and I drink obediently, finishing off half. What I wouldn’t give for that scotch. I can’t pinpoint why, other than there are too many unanswered questions where Lacy’s concerned, but she makes me nervous.

Aimee looks at me, her expression questioning. I squeeze her fingers reassuringly.

“I was right about you two.”

Aimee and I turn in unison toward Lacy.

“You’re meant to be.”

“What do you mean? Like soul mates?” Aimee asks.

Lacy lifts her shoulders and makes that affirmative noise again behind a closed-lipped smile. She looks at me, then through me, and I inhale deeply against my rising sense of anxiety. My knee bounces. This soul mate stuff is fun and all, but I want to get to the heart of this meet and greet. What does she know about my mom, and what’s so important my dad has to tell me? The man’s not even here.

“You have a lot of questions, Ian. You both do.”

I lift my brows, ignoring the uneasiness her comment incites, and invite her to elaborate.

“You wonder why I had you go to Mexico,” she says to Aimee and turns to me. “You wonder how I found you all those years ago. And you both wonder how it’s all connected.” She draws her hands in the air around an imaginary globe.

I resist the urge to quip about tarot cards or show her my palm when Aimee says, “A smidge.” She spreads her index finger and thumb an inch apart.

“Have you heard about the Red String of Fate?”

“No,” Aimee says as I inwardly groan. Did we really come all the way to listen to this?

“It’s an ancient Chinese myth about soul mates,” I explain. “The red string connects two people destined to spend their lives together.”

“You’re right, Ian, but it’s more than that. The string connects us for all sorts of reasons. It connects two people who are destined to meet under extraordinary circumstance and it connects people destined to help each other. Some of these connections are stronger than others, and I sense them.”

I glance over at Aimee, wondering if she’s buying this. She doesn’t look at me, her expression intent on Lacy.

“I met Imelda Rodriguez while on vacation with my daughter and son-in-law. I knew right away I was meant to help her, but I didn’t know why or how. Imelda and I became good friends, and one night she confided in me her arrangement with Thomas. She was miserable. She hated deceiving James, but she was financially strapped, and Thomas scared her. I couldn’tnothelp her, and the only way I knew how was to eliminate Thomas’s need for her. To do that I had to get rid of James, and make it look like Imelda had nothing to do with him going back home.”

“That’s when you found me.”

“Exactly.” Lacy points her finger at Aimee. “I told Imelda I tried talking with you at James’s funeral.”

“I wouldn’t call it talking.”

I nod my head in agreement. Lacy had chased Aimee through the parking lot. She spooked her.

“That’s true,” Lacy laments. “Looking back, I should have waited for a more appropriate time.”

I want to agree with Lacy, but had she waited, I wouldn’t be the guy sitting beside Aimee. This conversation wouldn’t even be happening.

“It took months for me to convince Imelda to allow me to approach you again, and only on the condition it couldn’t be traced back to her.” She looks at the table. Her finger traces a groove.

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