Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
The old fashion bell above the door chimes. Speak of the non-custodial parent and he shall appear? The figure I know to be Tom lollops in, and I say figure, because I can’t actually see his face for the oversized aviator sunglasses he’s wearing… along with a fedora and a scarf. He’d become a bit of a fashion victim since he’s turned forty a couple of years ago (sad-trendy, I’d coined it), but I’ve never seen him look so… odd.
“Izzy.” His hand on the back of my chair, he bends to kiss my cheek, thinking better of it as I turn my face disgustedly. “Well, er, thanks for coming.”
“You didn’t leave me a great deal of choice.” With his begging. “What’s with the…?” I gesture to my own face.
“What?”
“The sunglasses and hat ensemble. Are you traveling incognito?” My laughter is met with a stony silence. “Suit yourself,” I say, wrapping my hands around my bucket-sized cappuccino.
“You may laugh,” he retorts.
“I think I just did.” Peeling my forearms away from the plastic tablecloth, I lift my cup and take a sip. Not bad but not as nice as the coffee from Sandy’s machine. I expect that’s the beans he has sent from a small batch roaster in Edinburgh that make it superior. “You’ll draw more attention dressed like that than you’ll avoid, assuming that’s what you’re trying to do,” I add.
“Go ahead, be flippant,” he says, slipping off the hat and sunglasses. “I’m in danger.” As he unravels the scarf, I notice the dark blue smudges beneath his eyes. “In danger of losing my life.”
“Right.” I sigh. “I suppose you’d better tell me what’s going on.” I don’t recall him having such a flair for the dramatic before.
“It’s the stuff over on Harris. I’m up shit creek.”
“This isn’t news, Tom.” A few years ago, he’d invested in a golf club development on the Hebridean island of Harris—sank all the money he could get his hands on into it. There was to be apartments and a club house, but not before a distillery was opened, along with a marina and God knows what else. It was to be the jewel of the highlands—Scottish holidays for the gray nomad elite. But he was already in deep financial trouble months before I found him balls deep in Camila. He tried to get Sandy involved on several occasions, but unlike me, my brother was far too astute to get involved with Tom. “This has been going on for ages now.”
“I know, but I borrowed some money after the thing threatened to collapse the second time, and now the bastards want it back.”
“You’re just going to have to bite the bullet and declare bankruptcy.” My mouth tightens as I sit back in the chair and fold my arms. I’d thought once or twice it might come to this while we were married.
“Bite the bullet,” he repeats, dropping his head to his hands and flashing me his balding head. “Apt,” he says, looking up again. “I might get one to each of my kneecaps. Or maybe my head.”
“What are you talking about?” My cup chinks as I set it back on the saucer, and I watch as he moves his untouched coffee aside.
“Bad guys, Iz.” His voice lowered, Tom presses his forearms to the table, leaning in. “I borrowed a shitload of money from some bad guys, and I don’t have it to pay back.”
“Oh, Tom.” My hand lifts. I think I want to slap him with it. I lower it instead.
“Why would you do such a thing? Who are you involved with?”
“To stop me from losing everything,” he cries. “And it doesn’t matter who. I just need your help.”
“How much?”
“I need a hundred grand by Wednesday.”
“A hundred thousand—I don’t have that sort of money! I’m sorry, Tom, but even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.”
“What about the house? Can you borrow on it?” he asks, ignoring my barb.
“By Wednesday? No, Tom. And the house has subsidence—you know that. I can’t do anything until the insurance company has investigated and come to some conclusion on the claim.” If I hadn’t, I think I would’ve sold it by now. “And quite frankly, I wouldn’t risk making the boys homeless so you can hang on to your get rich not very quick scheme.”
“How about to keep their father’s head attached? Would you do it then?”
“I don’t know. I’d have to think about it.”
“Izzy,” he says on a pained groan, slumping back in his chair. “I know I hurt you, but you loved me once.” I pull a face. “Think of the boys.”
“I am thinking of them. I’m thinking of keeping a roof over their heads. Of keeping one parent in the land of the living.” I know I sound heartless, but he’s just being dramatic. I don’t doubt he’s in some sort of trouble, but I also wouldn’t put it past him to try to scam me out of money while he’s at it.