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“Nothing with me or Summer. Not directly at least.” She paused. “Peter’s in jail.”
Her mother’s eyes widened as her jaw dropped. “What did you just say?”
Erica explained what she knew about the very bizarre situation. “Obviously I haven’t talked to him, so I don’t know much. Killion found out what he could. According to Summer, Allison doesn’t know anything either.” She looked at her mother. “Allison being the second wife.”
“I know who she is. In jail?” Mara shook her head. “I can’t see it. He’s not that driven. I would think money laundering and wire fraud require more effort than he puts into most things.” She sighed. “Which sounds mean and unfair, but he was cruel to you and I’m never going to forgive that. So what are you going to do?”
“There’s nothing to do. I’m sure he has a lawyer.”
Her mother stared at her without speaking.
“What?” Erica shifted in her seat. “I’m not married to him anymore. This isn’t my problem.”
Her mother smiled. “If it’s not your problem, why did you want to talk to me?”
An excellent question, Erica thought. “Nothing like this has ever happened to our family before. It’s hard to know what to think.”
“I can see that.” Her mother studied her. “Isn’t Allison pregnant?”
“So I’m told.” Summer was far too thrilled about the impending birth of her half sister.
“And she has a toddler.”
“Jackson. Yes. He’s, I don’t know, eighteen months.”
“So Allison has one child, another on the way, her husband is in jail and her bank accounts have been frozen.”
“I’ll admit it sounds bad, but Peter and I are nothing to each other.”
“I don’t see Peter as the main issue.”
Unfortunately her mother was right about that. “Summer’s upset,” she admitted. Hysterical was a better word.
“I can imagine. She’s a tenderhearted young woman who loves her stepmother and half brother. They’re in trouble and she wants to help. And her father is in jail.” Mara’s tone was pointed.
“It’s not my rock. I’m not getting involved.”
She thought her mother might try to convince her otherwise. Instead Mara rose and smiled at her. “Good luck with that. I’ll be home tonight in case you need me.”
“I know she’s worried, but there’s nothing we can do. I’m sure Allison already has a plan and she’ll be fine.”
Amusement brightened her mother’s eyes. “Keep telling yourself that and maybe it will be true.”
5
The Washington West (otherwise known as Wa-West) high school fast pitch softball season lasted twenty regular games, not counting postseason. There were two games a week, plus invitationals, for ten weeks, equally divided between home and away. Games were seven innings, unless there was a tie, or one team was ahead by more than fifteen runs at the end of the fifth.
Start time ranged from three thirty to five, depending on the location. Home games started promptly at four. Summer had been on the team since her freshman year and in all that time, Erica hadn’t missed a single game. Peter came to a couple a year, Mara stopped by to see her granddaughter play at least a few times a month, but no matter what else was happening in her life, Erica showed up to cheer on her kid.
As she walked from the parking lot to the playing field, she glanced at the gray sky. Rain was common in March, but according to the local weather app, it should hold off until around seven, giving the team plenty of time to slaughter their opponents. The temperature was in the upper forties—not exactly ideal outdoor viewing weather, but she’d grown up in the Pacific Northwest and knew how to layer with the best of them. Her jacket had a hood and she’d brought a scarf and a blanket. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten to change out of her high-heeled boots into something more sensible, so had to cross the few feet of muddy grass with her weight on her toes.
The stands were half-full, mostly with clusters of moms sitting together and talking. Erica recognized a few of them as other mothers of Wa-West players. Several of the team members had been playing since they were eight or nine, so the families knew each other well.
Summer had gotten interested in softball when she’d been around ten. Peter had wanted her to find a sport she liked—anything to keep her out of Erica’s salon-based world. In the beginning play had been casual and Erica hadn’t gotten involved. But in middle school Summer had joined a local league and started to shine as a player, and Erica had begun attending games.
The other moms, most of them stay-at-home types, had been friendly, inviting Erica to sit with them. But after the games, when they’d hung out over barbecues or potlucks, Erica had needed to get back to work. The start times had been even earlier then, cutting into her hours at the salons. She’d been unable to join them on afternoons of shopping or DIY projects. Eventually they’d stopped inviting her to sit with them, or maybe she’d stopped saying yes. At this point, she wasn’t sure which.
Which explained why, although she smiled and waved at the women she’d known for six or seven years, she didn’t head in their direction, nor had they saved her a seat. Instead she sat, as she always did, by herself.
