Page 51 of The Love Thief

CHAPTER THIRTY - SEVEN But I Need You

The long walk in Balboa Park with Mom was exactly what I needed to sort out a day filled with too many highs and lows. I was relieved that I was now free of any threat of prosecution or prison.

I even allowed myself a fantasy about Jackson and began to feel the possibility that maybe someday I would love again. Just knowing that I felt some interest—and maybe he felt it, too—had my romance meter up and running.

And, at the same time, I felt confused and conflicted about the roses Barry sent and his attempt to call me.

Even though I was no longer suffering over the loss, the memories of the good times with him still taunted me.

I found myself indulging in illusory moments of wishing I had found my Prince Charming and that we were going to live the life of my dreams. Ever practical, I would talk myself back down to reality, down to Planet Earth, where my Prince Charming was a lousy scumbag that made black mold look like gold.

When did life get so fucking complicated?

Jetlag was overtaking me like a June gloom fog rolling onto the shoreline. I decided I would tell Jackson tomorrow about Barry. Minutes later I was deep into a ten-hour peaceful, dreamless sleep.

The chiming sound of my WhatsApp notifications began begging for my attention. I wasn’t yet conscious enough to figure out where my phone was and fought the impulse to wake up. It didn’t matter what time it was, or who might be calling, more sleep was the only appetite to surrender to.

Or so I thought.

A minute later the chiming sound happened again, only this time it was very brief, which meant that I had a message, not a caller.

Rolling over required energy I didn’t have, but eventually, my hand groped the nightstand and found the phone. I hit play for the voice message, anticipating Maya’s sweet voice. What I heard sent a rocket of adrenaline through me.

“Holly, baby,” Barry crooned. “This is your long-lost soulmate, the one who loves you unconditionally and forever. I know now that you were the best thing that ever happened to me and I promise I can make you happy beyond your wildest dreams,” he said enthusiastically like a cheerleader’s chant.

“Holly, I need you. I need your sunshine, your light, your warmth upon my body. It’s a beautiful, warm spring day. Why don’t we get together for a walk on the beach? Let me tell you, let me show you, all the reasons why we are meant to be together,” he begged.

“Can you believe it was a year ago today that we took our first beach walk? Remember how amazing that was? Holly, just give me one hour of your time. I promise you won’t regret it, and then someday we will look back on this day as the start of our true love destiny. Call me, okay?”

Thankfully I was lying down or the dizziness I was feeling would have knocked me to the floor. I felt like I was in an emotional spin cycle of anger, disbelief, and disgust with a tinge of fear.

After lightly tapping on the door, Mom walked in carrying a tray with a mocha almond latte and two glutinous chocolate croissants.

“Good morning, sugar, don’t get used to this, but I made your favorite double trouble caffeine fix,” she said as she placed the tray next to me and began nibbling one end of the flaky, yummy pastry.

I smiled at her and reached for the coffee cup with one hand while pushing play on my phone so she could hear for herself what the monster had to say.

Mom’s smile sagged into a grimace and her eyes narrowed as she listened to Barry’s pitch for a do-over.

“Fuck,” she said in a sad voice. “Now what? You’re not going to call him back, are you?” Mom’s face looked contorted with fear.

“No way, Mom, but I am going to turn this lemon into lemonade,” I said with a sly grin.

“Agent Jackson made me promise to let him know if anything like this happens. He sort of predicted Shithead would try to weasel his way back into my life.”

I forwarded the voice message to Jackson with a note that read: “You were right!! Listen to this message that came through today on WhatsApp. If you think it would strengthen your case, you can put a wire on me and I will go meet with him and see what he offers me to not testify against him. WDYT?”

A few minutes later, Jackson responded.

“Someone has been watching too many crime TV shows. Thanks for letting me know. The case is strong enough. No need for you to see him. For now, don’t answer back and save the message.

BTW, I gave the roses to a friend who runs a nursing home in Mission Hills to distribute to her patients.

I’m leaving for Sacramento in the morning, but here’s my cell phone number. You can call or text me anytime.”

I was relieved that he wasn’t going to wire me up and put me undercover. Just thinking about seeing Barry in court made me queasy. Thinking about Jackson also affected my stomach but, interestingly enough, in a more exciting, butterflies kind of way.

“You can call or text me anytime,” he had written. I allowed my insides to swoon for a moment.

Okay , I thought. Now how exactly should I interpret that? A simple statement of fact? A cryptic way to say ‘I want to hear from you again’? Am I imagining something that isn’t there?

If I had a daisy, I would have pulled the petals, “He loves me?” “He loves me not.” God, I am still such a starry-eyed, juvenile, romantic , I thought as I reached for the croissant Mom had left on the plate.

The days flew by. I couldn’t think of any good pretense or reason to call or text Jackson since I didn’t get any further messages from Barry. I felt a little disappointed, not because Barry went silent, but because Jackson wasn’t here. A sense of missing him tugged at my heart.

Luckily, Auntie Geeta kept me busy by sending me dozens of texts from Michigan and hiring me to prepare her guesthouse for the arrival of her parents.

She was helping them pack up and downsize a lifetime of stuff into a few suitcases to move them in.

They would be coming in a week. Although the guesthouse had a kitchen full of the best appliances, the cabinets, fridge, and pantry were bare.

My instructions were to shop and fill everything.

From pots and pans, dishes and glasses to food, spices, teas, and alcohol.

Dada, as he preferred to be called, had a daily whisky straight up every afternoon at 4 P.M. , while Nani drank Earl Grey tea with a little milk and biscuits.

I found a handyman to install safety bars in the hallways, in the shower, and next to the toilet.

I stocked the hall closet with fresh towels and created a little altar space, complete with Hindu icons, incense, and candles in an alcove for morning rituals.

I also got in a little practice time, cooking the comfort foods I had learned from Divya for Mom every night.

I completed the project with an hour to spare, and a big pot of khichri on the stove to greet them.

The next morning my WhatsApp chimes went berserk. I saw it was Barry and ignored it. A minute later, I heard a single chime letting me know I had a message.

Hearing Mom in the kitchen and smelling the freshly brewed coffee, I grabbed my phone and stumbled into the kitchen.

“I’ve made you some avocado toast with yellow heirloom tomatoes, crispy bacon, and toasted sesame seeds,” Mom said brightly. I watched her bustle behind the butcher block island before handing me the plate full of goodies.

As I chewed each delicious morsel, I could literally taste my mom’s love. Thinking back to Divya’s cooking class, I was reminded of the sanctity of preparing meals. Food really can transport emotions , I thought, closing my eyes as I swallowed.

I soaked up the brief moment of santosha in the midst of the escalating chaos that was my life. Snapping back to reality, I carefully placed my phone on the counter in front of Mom. “Get a load of Barry’s latest message,” I said, pressing the play arrow.

“Hey, babe, you can’t stay mad at me forever,” whined Barry’s voice.

“You know I am beyond sorry and will spend the rest of my life proving to you how much I love you and making sure you have everything you have ever dreamed of. Why don’t we meet at George’s Rooftop today for an early lunch, say 11:45 A.M. , before the crowds hit?

We can even talk about when I can return your $100,000 if you’d like.

Just meet me there, Holly, okay? I promise you will be glad you did,” the sleazy, creepy bastard said in a cheerful, optimistic tone.

“Did he just say what I think he did? Did he really admit he owes you a hundred thousand?” Mom asked with a gleeful look in her eyes.

I took a step backward. Mom was right. He had admitted that! She always knew how to cheer me up. A wave of glee encompassed me as I considered what she had said.

“Yes, he did say that, didn’t he?” I grabbed my mug and took a long sip of coffee, brain cells perking up and thanking me for the kick start.

“You know, we should talk to Geeta. Perhaps, if you sue him in a civil suit, we can use this message as evidence to get your money back,” Mom suggested.

“Well, it couldn’t hurt to ask Auntie, but I’m not going to meet him for lunch.

I would really, really love to get that money back.

But let’s face it: if I meet him, he’s just going to try to use that as leverage so I won’t testify against him,” I said, feeling a bit ashamed that I had been dumb enough to have given him the money without reading the document.

I used to say that love is blind. Now I say that gullibility is.

My shame quickly receded and transformed into excitement when I realized I had the perfect excuse to reach out to Jackson. He had insisted that I let him know any time Barry contacts me, and this one was particularly juicy.

I took another big bite of my avocado toast and then texted Jackson: “Got another voice message from you-know-who offering me a type of bribe! I’m not falling for it.”