Page 23 of Blame it on the Bet
No. Way. Two can play this game.
“Ah, well, sorry I can’t help you,” I say with genuine- sounding regret, “but I hope to be on a plane this evening.” I stop suddenly, holding up one finger as I pretend to have
an idea. “But you know…we could share the appointment,” I suggest.
“Share?” she echoes. “How does that work, exactly?” “We’re both here regarding the same matter. I have no problem with you hearing my discussion with Wally here.” I give the guy a good, manly thump on the back. “Unless, of course, you’d like to speak to him in private…”
I leave the suggestion hanging out there like a dare. And, good as she is, Hennessy O’Halloran rises to the bait.
“No. I have nothing to hide,” she pronounces.
And, just like that, we’re side by side in Wally’s glass cubical like a pair of newlyweds applying for their first mortgage. Except only one of us needs it, and it’s not me.
“So, Mr. Truitt,” Wally begins, “I understand you have registered an intent to purchase the pub property.”
“Yes, that’s right,” I confirm. “I’ve made numerous offers to Miss O’Halloran, and she’s turned them down. So now I’d like to proceed with plans to purchase it once the loan defaults.”
“Hey!” she objects from next to me. “You seem awfully certain that we won’t be able to pay off that loan.”
I turn toward her with a genial shrug.
“I just call ’em like I see ’em. And what I see is someone short on funds and short on time. Someone who can’t put aside her nostalgia in order to do the right thing for her family—” I stop short, remembering what Miss Lucy had just said to me.
I can feel the heat of her fury as it comes off her in waves.
I’m secretly hoping she’ll growl again. That was so hot.
“My family is none of your concern,” she hisses. “And, for your information, I’m here to speak with Wally about alternative options and financing so we can pay off this debt and I can get you out of my life once. And. For. All.”
“Ouch!” I yelp dramatically.
My feigned hurt only aggravates her more.
“Wally? What can I do? Mortgage the house on Orange Avenue? Cash in my retirement fund? Can we just take out a second mortgage to pay off the first one? I know that can be done sometimes…”
Wally is shaking his head because he knows what I already know.
“Afraid not, Hennessy. I’ve been going over the numbers you emailed me and looking through Jack’s estate papers. The house is in trust until Bailey finishes college, so there’s no tapping that equity. And even if we could, the comps on housing prices in your neighborhood aren’t great. The house simply isn’t worth enough. You’d have to pull out every cent of equity, up to eighty percent. But it still wouldn’t get you close enough, and, truth be told, I’m not certain you’d qualify.”
Well, that’s not necessarily true…
“Why not?” she demands indignantly. “I have a good job…”
“You do,” he agrees, “by outstate standards. But then, our cost of living is considerably lower than that of the Twin Cities. So, what you’re earning there is pretty much sucked up into your living expenses. Now, if you were working for some swanky law firm instead of as a public defender, it might be a different situation. Those folks tend to pull down healthy six-figure incomes. Attorneys in your position…not so much.”
I find myself indignant on her behalf—a totally foreign sensation. She traded in a big salary to help people, and this is the thanks she gets? Before I can say as much, Wally continues.
“And then there’s the matter of your student loans. Your father covered your undergrad degree, but, as you know, only the first thirty-thousand of your law school tuition. I believe you still carry that debt?”
Doesn’t this guy know student loan debt doesn’t carry as much weight as commercial debt?
“I can move back up here, to Mayhem,” she offers quietly. “And then you won’t have that income anymore, will you?” Wally points out.
I suddenly realize what a bad idea this was. I’ve made this exponentially harder by forcing this woman to confront her situation in my presence. Because of me, she’s got embarrassment to add to her plate full of emotions.
Oh hell…what’s wrong with me? I don’t do empathy. Right?
So why do I suddenly want to tell this woman that everything is going to be okay? Why am I suddenly regretting the fact that I’ve forced her to experience this humiliation in my presence? I’m talking before I can help myself.
