A Week Later

I stare down at the letter in front of me on my kitchen table for the hundredth time this week.

Dear Ms. Jasalie Adorlee Gordon,

I represent Tucson Entertainment & Casino Properties, and I’m hopeful you can be of assistance in a matter concerning Ms. Marianne Gordon. We tracked down an old insurance form that has you listed as her beneficiary and names you as her daughter. I’m hoping, because of the match of your unusual middle name, that you are indeed the right person.

As you may or may not be aware, Marianne Gordon has amassed twenty-five thousand dollars in gambling debts. Her debt needs to be settled, or we will be forced to execute the lien on her house. Your mother is not responding to any of our letters or phone calls. If Tucson Entertainment & Casino Properties does not receive payment within sixty days, ownership of the property will automatically default to us, and legal action will be taken, which will include eviction and possible incarceration.

The attached card includes the current information we have for your mother on file. Let me know if I can be of service.

Sincerely,

Tym McBooth

I grab the attached card again like I’m an addict looking for a hit and stare hard at the address. I don’t know why I keep looking at it—I had the whole thing memorized days ago. But this is the first hint I’ve received of my mother’s whereabouts in over twenty years. And if I’m completely honest with myself, the chance to help out the woman who gave birth to me—to right her wrongs—tugs at the long-closed recesses of my heart, despite myself. My mother left me at the age of four to fend for myself, and not a day has gone by when I haven’t missed her. The idea of having a place to call home, when I’ve always felt homeless, makes my chest ache. I have a momentary fantasy of finding my long-lost mother, paying off the debt, and reconciling with her. Then the two of us would move in together in Arizona, the place where everything went so wrong all those years ago and she gave me away to save herself.

Maybe this time I can save us both.

The very idea makes me panic because I don’t have twenty-five thousand dollars. I don’t have twenty-five hundred dollars. I live paycheck to paycheck—between my rent each month and trying to pay down my student loans, my financial health could be better. Trying to pay off my mother’s debt is a pipe dream. I nearly wish I didn’t know the option was out there because not knowing at all would certainly hurt less.

I fold the letter up and put it into my purse, and then I go into my bedroom and open the blinds. I smile in relief at the cloudless L.A. sky. Should be clear skies for flying. Knowing my cab will be here any minute to take me to the airport, I throw a dress and another package of sculpting clay into my suitcase.

When I race into the bathroom to grab my make-up bag, I nearly trip on Bessie, who meows up at me. I reach down to pat her soft kitty fur before realizing I forgot to pack my hairbrush. I pick up my brush but continue to stand in the bathroom anxiously, certain I’m forgetting some essential item, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what it is.

Before I can solve the mystery, Balaster, my other white fluffball of a cat, comes around the corner and arches his back for a pet. I lean down and grab him up in a hug, reaching for Bessie at the same time.

“I’ll see you kitties in a week.” I bury my face in their fur. “Rosita will take good care of you.”My front door creaks. I lean my head out of the bathroom doorway and smile at Rosita walking into my apartment. She’s wearing her usual blue housedress and matching slippers, and she heads for her favorite spot—my couch.

“Hi! You’ll remember to feed the cats right?” I say.

“I’ll stop in twice a day,” she promises as she takes a seat. “Now, if only you’d meet a nice man out there in Tucson and bring him back here to Los Angeles for some company of your own.”

“I have company, Rosita,” I call back to her as I grab Joel’s sleepover toothbrush and throw it into the garbage. I know that’s unceremonious of me, but so was the way he treated our engagement, so it’s like peace out.

“I mean human company, Jasalie,” Rosita says. “You need someone besides these two cats to love.”

I walk into the living room as Hollywood Now! blares out of my television. “Today,” the journalist says with a big smile, “we have exclusive pictures of California Cougars’ quarterback Dylan Wild leaving the gym. Dylan was most recently linked with actress Natalie Torpe. When will the league’s MVP, and L.A.’s sexiest bachelor, have any new tricks up his sleeve, maybe in the romance department?”

Dylan Wild. My heart lurches. The gorgeous man who helped me out at the Super Bowl party. God, that was awkward when he tried to flirt with me, and I ran away like he was a horrible creature. Which he wasn’t, of course. He was easily the sexiest man I’d ever interacted with. He was so confident I’d say yes to him that for some reason, I just had to say no. But then the way he handled his awful teammate and saved me from making even more of a scene—that drew me to him all over again. I didn’t see him for the rest of the night.

No matter. It sounds like Dylan routinely finds another “most beautiful woman in the room.” In L.A. it’s always the same story—the prettier they look, the less you cantrust them.

I toss my dirty socks at the TV and then grab the remote to turn it off. “Stupid gossip,” I complain. “God, L.A. can make me sick. I’m happy to be going out of town, even if it is for work.”

After Bill and the team owner chatted it up at the Super Bowl victory party, Hal Cotton gave Apex the chance to run this whole team event for the Cougars in Arizona. If we do it right, there’s a great chance he’ll sign on as our client out here in L.A.

I never dreamed I’d be going to Tucson again for work or any other reason. The fact that I’m suddenly going to be staying in the same city where I was born and where my mother lives now feels like fate. Figuring out how to get the money to pay off her debt is another thing entirely.

I sit down and rest my head on Rosita’s shoulder. “I’ll miss you this week. What will I do without our nightly chats?”

She reaches out to stroke my hair. “I admire you, Jase. You’re standing on your own. I’d never be so brave. I married Martin right out of high school, and we were together until he passed. I miss him.”

I silently wonder what it feels like to really love someone in this world and for them to love you. I’d give anything to know that feeling.

I linger on Rosita’s shoulder for a second longer before dragging my long legs into a standing position. One of the only things my biological parents gave me was the gift of height. I stand six feet tall, and yeah, some of the time I feel like a model, but mostly I feel like an absolute oaf.

“Honestly, maybe that girl at the bridal salon was right. I need shoes that shrink me.”

“Shoes that shrink you?” Rosita wrinkles her nose. “You mean flats.”

“No. Flats are too high. I mean shoes that actually make me shorter. Maybe ones with concave bottoms or something. You know, where they sink into the ground.”Rosita snorts with laughter. “All because Joel said you made him feel small? There are no shoes that shrink you.”

“So what’s my solution?”

“You need a man who’s on your level, honey. That’s why you and Joel didn’t work out. He wasn’t the one.”

I make a face. “My experience with Joel was a clear sign that some people are meant to live alone. I’m twenty-seven, and I haven’t come close to finding a Mr. Right.”

Rosita stands up and faces me. “Just remember, honey, it only takes one good man to erase a lifetime of bad ones. And you never know where you’ll find him, sometimes in the most unlikely of moments…”

“I made my first and last attempt at a commitment when I stupidly got engaged to Joel,” I say to her firmly. “I thought I could be like other people. You know, normal people who marry and have families. But now I know I was right all along. Some people are just meant to be alone. So a fling in Arizona? Possibly. The real thing? Not in a million years.”

She tsks at me. “Are you afraid, honey?”

“While I appreciate your concern, I assure you I’m okay.” I turn and usher her into the hallway. “Make sure to text me every day about the kitties. I’ll miss you, and I’ll see you when I get back. ALONE. Bye!”

I go into my bedroom, throw the rest of my clothes into the suitcase, and sit on top of it to get it to shut. With all of the sculpting clay I have in there, there’s not much room left for apparel.

I hear honking. Knowing it’s the cab, I grab my suitcase and go to leave, calling out goodbye to Bessie and Balaster as I go. As soon as I reach the door, though, I turn back. I run into the bedroom and, for reasons inexplicable to me, I grab an unopened box of condoms from my bedside table drawer. Just in case a small miracle happens in Tucson, Arizona this week.

As I walk out to the cab, the wind blows so strongly it knocks the cab driver’s hat off.“Winds of change, maybe, huh?” he mutters as he grabs it back off the ground.

Doubtful. I climb into the car and take a romance novel from my purse. If I can’t fall in love, I might as well read about it.