37. Thirty-Seven

Chase

It’s Saturday, and we make sure we’re home in time for the evening news.

“It’s on every local news channel.”

We watch as the station airs the entire story of how a local security guard’s life was endangered because of a faulty bulletproof vest. They sing the praises of Knight Security and how we contacted the police when we suspected the vendor. Jaxson’s involvement is not mentioned; instead, they praise the police. One news station ends its segment with a brief interview with Sanders.

I turn off the television with the remote and shrug, “I wonder how long it will take for this not to be news.”

“Like Sam said, at least it’s good news,”

“Yeah, and Knight Security is getting free publicity. I’d say Sanders got a raw deal, but he’s loving the attention.”

Val walks over to her briefcase, pulls out a large stack of papers, and sits down on the couch.

“Did you bring work home, Val?”

“Kind of. These are copies of my uncle’s emails.”

“Val, I think that’s against the law if you did it without his permission. Even if you find something, you wouldn’t be able to use it as evidence.”

“You’re probably right.”

She starts reading over the papers.

“Val, I told you that’s illegal.”

“We already accessed his account, so if I’m already guilty of a crime, I should at least try to find something. Right?”

“I know I’m going to regret this.” I hold out my hand, and she gives me half of the pages.

“What are we looking for, Val?”

“You said something about kickbacks, so I wanted to see if any of the emails seem— I don’t know, kind of suspicious.”

“In other words, you have no clue.”

“Yep, that about sums it up,” she admits ruefully.

We both start reading through our stack of emails.

“Val, have you ever heard of a company named ReConstruct?”

“No, did you find something?”

“I’m not sure. It’s more what the email doesn’t say.”

“Let me read it,” I read the email out loud. “Thanks for confirming approval. We’ll submit our bid tomorrow.”

“Approval before they bid? Where’s my uncle’s reply?”

“Here it is. It says our arrangement will continue as we have a renovation planned for next month.”

“Chase, is that all it says? There’s nothing else in my Uncle Victor’s response?”

“No. It’s what isn’t being said, Val. Like he purposely made it vague.”

“I agree. I think our next step should be research on ReConstruct.”

I stand up with the papers in my hand. “Val, where do you want me to put these emails?”

“In the firepit.”

I start to laugh. “You get the matches. I’ll get the marshmallows and chocolate. We can have s’mores.”

Later, as we watch the last embers in the firepit lose their glow, Val looks over at me.

“Thanks for helping me.”

“Destroy the evidence?”

“No, but that, too.”

“You know, I’ve never liked your family, Val.”

“I know. I wish you could have met my parents. You would have liked them.”

“If there were anything like their daughter, I’m sure I would have.”

“It’s the little things that I remember. When my father would come home from work, I would run to him. He would pick me up in his arms and call me his ‘Bella.’ It means beautiful.”

“Ah, that’s sweet. I bet he was wonderful.”

“Thanks. I think your mom is pretty wonderful. What was your dad like?”

“You already know about his cookouts because he loved getting family and friends together. He was a good father. Dad was firm but fair.”

“How did he die?”

“Car accident. He was driving home from work one night and another driver lost control of their vehicle. They hit my dad’s car head-on. He died at the scene.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Yeah, it was. I always expected him to be there for us.”

“I know what you mean. None of us know which day will be our last.”

“Yeah.”

We sit there a few more minutes in silence, and then I notice the fire is completely out.

“We should probably go in. It’s getting cool out here.”

I remind Val, “We need to return the Spyder tomorrow before five o’clock. Do you want to go for a run before we do?”

“Yes, that sounds like fun.”

“I thought we could ride down to St. Augustine.”

“That sounds perfect.”

On the ride down to the Nation’s Oldest City, I glance over at Val. She skillfully maneuvers the Spyder as she makes a turn.

We drive slowly through the streets of St. Augustine because, on the weekends, there is always a crowd. There are many tourists, but I know that the locals love to walk these streets as well.

By mutual agreement, when we spot a free parking space, we both slow down. Val parks her Spyder, and I pull up beside her. We both take off our helmets.

“Do you want to walk around?”

“Sure, it will feel good to stretch my legs.”

We secure our helmets and then I take Val’s hand, and we stroll through the shops on St. George Street.

“I love St. Augustine. Have you ever gone to their Night of Lights?”

“No, but I’ve heard about it. They put up lights for Christmas, right?”

“Yes, and it’s beautiful. In the park, they string thousands of lights through the tree branches and all the buildings are decorated. It’s almost magical.”

“We’ll have to come back for that.”

We spend an hour or so browsing through the shops.

“Do you want to eat lunch while we’re here?”

Val nods, “Great, because I know of a great place to eat,” I brag.

We walk to the Forgotten Tonic.

We opt for outside seating.

“This is nice.”

“They have good food too.”

“I think I’ll get their BLFGT.”

“Is that a play on a BLT, bacon, lettuce, and tomato?”

“Yes, but it’s a fried green tomato, so I want to try it.”

When the server comes by with our drinks, Val orders her sandwich, and I get shrimp and grits.

We’re mostly quiet, just enjoying the view and people-watching.

We see an older couple walk by, holding hands. I look over at Val, and she gives me a soft smile, and then she looks away.

I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing I am. Will we grow old together, or will we separate when our year is up?

I start to frown, then the server places our food on the table.

“This looks good,” Val takes a bite, “and it tastes as good as it looks.”

“So we can head back to Jacksonville after lunch. Did you want to stop by the house or go directly to the dealership and return the bike?”

“I guess directly to the dealers.”

We continue to talk about bikes and the club until we’re finished eating.

The trip back to Jacksonville only takes about thirty minutes, and we’re pulling into the dealership. I called the salesman from St. Augustine to let him know that Val was ready to sign and when we’d arrive. I’m hoping he’ll have everything ready.

In less than two hours, we’re driving away, and Val’s the proud owner of a brand new Can-Am Spyder.